To William Simpson, Ochiltree. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BBBCBC DEEFEB BBEGBG FFFBFB EEEFEF CCCFCF BBBEBC CCCFCF CCCECE FFFFFF EEEEEE FFFHFI CCCCCC FFFEFE CCCJCJ KKKCKC CCCBCB FFFFFF E CCCECE FFFHFC CCCLCC EEELEL LLLELE EEEFEF FFFEFE FFFFFF MMMEKE CCCECE FFFEFE NNNONO CCCFCFMay | A |
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I gat your letter winsome Willie | B |
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie | B |
Tho' I maun say't I wad be silly | B |
An' unco vain | C |
Should I believe my coaxin' billie | B |
Your flatterin' strain | C |
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But I'se believe ye kindly meant it | D |
I sud be laith to think ye hinted | E |
Ironic satire sidelins sklented | E |
On my poor Musie | F |
Tho' in sic phraisin' terms ye've penn'd it | E |
I scarce excuse ye | B |
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My senses wad be in a creel | B |
Should I but dare a hope to speel | B |
Wi' Allan or wi' Gilbertfield | E |
The braes o' fame | G |
Or Fergusson the writer chiel | B |
A deathless name | G |
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O Fergusson thy glorious parts | F |
Ill suited law's dry musty arts | F |
My curse upon your whunstane hearts | F |
Ye Enbrugh gentry | B |
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes | F |
Wad stow'd his pantry | B |
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Yet when a tale comes i' my head | E |
Or lasses gie my heart a screed | E |
As whiles they're like to be my dead | E |
O sad disease | F |
I kittle up my rustic reed | E |
It gies me ease | F |
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Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain | C |
She's gotten poets o' her ain | C |
Chiels wha their chanters winna hain | C |
But tune their lays | F |
Till echoes a' resound again | C |
Her weel sung praise | F |
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Nae poet thought her worth his while | B |
To set her name in measur'd stile | B |
She lay like some unkenn'd of isle | B |
Beside New Holland | E |
Or whare wild meeting oceans boil | B |
Besouth Magellan | C |
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Ramsay an' famous Fergusson | C |
Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon | C |
Yarrow an' Tweed to monie a tune | C |
Owre Scotland rings | F |
While Irwin Lugar Ayr an' Doon | C |
Nae body sings | F |
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Th' Ilissus Tiber Thames an' Seine | C |
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line | C |
But Willie set your fit to mine | C |
An' cock your crest | E |
We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine | C |
Up wi' the best | E |
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We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells | F |
Her moor's red brown wi' heather bells | F |
Her banks an' braes her dens an' dells | F |
Where glorious Wallace | F |
Aft bure the gree as story tells | F |
Frae southron billies | F |
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At Wallace' name what Scottish blood | E |
But boils up in a spring tide flood | E |
Oft have our fearless fathers strode | E |
By Wallace' side | E |
Still pressing onward red wat shod | E |
Or glorious dy'd | E |
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O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods | F |
When lintwhites chant amang the buds | F |
And jinkin' hares in amorous whids | F |
Their loves enjoy | H |
While thro' the braes the cushat croods | F |
With wailfu' cry | I |
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Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me | C |
When winds rave thro' the naked tree | C |
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree | C |
Are hoary gray | C |
Or blinding drifts wild furious flee | C |
Dark'ning the day | C |
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O Nature a' thy shews an' forms | F |
To feeling pensive hearts hae charms | F |
Whether the summer kindly warms | F |
Wi' life an' light | E |
Or winter howls in gusty storms | F |
The lang dark night | E |
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The muse nae Poet ever fand her | C |
'Till by himsel' he learn'd to wander | C |
Adown some trotting burn's meander | C |
An' no think lang | J |
O sweet to stray an' pensive ponder | C |
A heart felt sang | J |
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The warly race may drudge an' drive | K |
Hog shouther jundie stretch an' strive | K |
Let me fair Nature's face descrive | K |
And I wi' pleasure | C |
Shall let the busy grumbling hive | K |
Bum owre their treasure | C |
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Fareweel my rhyme composing brither | C |
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither | C |
Now let us lay our heads thegither | C |
In love fraternal | B |
May envy wallop in a tether | C |
Black fiend infernal | B |
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While Highlandmen hate tolls an' taxes | F |
While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies | F |
While terra firma on her axes | F |
Diurnal turns | F |
Count on a friend in faith an' practice | F |
In Robert Burns | F |
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Postscript | E |
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My memory's no worth a preen | C |
I had amaist forgotten clean | C |
Ye bade me write you what they mean | C |
By this New Light | E |
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been | C |
Maist like to fight | E |
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In days when mankind were but callans | F |
At grammar logic an' sic talents | F |
They took nae pains their speech to balance | F |
Or rules to gie | H |
But spak their thoughts in plain braid Lallans | F |
Like you or me | C |
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In thae auld times they thought the moon | C |
Just like a sark or pair o' shoon | C |
Wore by degrees 'till her last roon | C |
Gaed past their viewing | L |
An' shortly after she was done | C |
They gat a new one | C |
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This past for certain undisputed | E |
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it | E |
'Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it | E |
An' ca'd it wrang | L |
An' muckle din there was about it | E |
Baith loud an' lang | L |
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Some herds weel learn'd upo' the beuk | L |
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk | L |
For 'twas the auld moon turned a neuk | L |
An' out o' sight | E |
An' backlins comin' to the leuk | L |
She grew mair bright | E |
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This was deny'd it was affirm'd | E |
The herds an' hissels were alarm'd | E |
The rev'rend gray beards rav'd and storm'd | E |
That beardless laddies | F |
Should think they better were inform'd | E |
Than their auld daddies | F |
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Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks | F |
Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks | F |
An' monie a fallow gat his licks | F |
Wi' hearty crunt | E |
An' some to learn them for their tricks | F |
Were hang'd an' brunt | E |
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This game was play'd in monie lands | F |
An' Auld Light caddies bure sic hands | F |
That faith the youngsters took the sands | F |
Wi' nimble shanks | F |
'Till lairds forbade by strict commands | F |
Sic bluidy pranks | F |
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But New Light herds gat sic a cowe | M |
Folk thought them ruin'd stick an' stowe | M |
Till now amaist on every knowe | M |
Ye'll find ane plac'd | E |
An' some their New Light fair avow | K |
Just quite barefac'd | E |
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Nae doubt the Auld Light flocks are bleatin' | C |
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin' | C |
Mysel' I've even seen them greetin' | C |
Wi' girnin' spite | E |
To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on | C |
By word an' write | E |
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But shortly they will cowe the loons | F |
Some Auld Light herds in neibor towns | F |
Are mind't in things they ca' balloons | F |
To tak a flight | E |
An' stay ae month amang the moons | F |
And see them right | E |
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Guid observation they will gie them | N |
An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them | N |
The hindmost shaird they'll fetch it wi' them | N |
Just i' their pouch | O |
An' when the New Light billies see them | N |
I think they'll crouch | O |
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Sae ye observe that a' this clatter | C |
Is naething but a moonshine matter | C |
But tho' dull prose folk Latin splatter | C |
In logic tulzie | F |
I hope we bardies ken some better | C |
Than mind sic brulzie | F |
Robert Burns
(1)
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