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 CCCFCF| May | A |
| - | |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| Postscript | E |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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 |
| - | |
| 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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About To William Simpson, Ochiltree.
To William Simpson, Ochiltree. is a poem by Robert Burns. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.