Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

Robert Burns (1759–1796)

Extract from The Epistle to Mrs. Scott of Wauchope

I MIND it weel, in early date,

When I was beardless, young, and blate,

An’ first could thresh the barn,

Or haud a yokin at the pleugh,

An’ tho’ forfoughten sair eneugh,

Yet unco proud to learn:

When first amang the yellow corn

A man I reckon’d was,

And wi’ the lave ilk merry morn

Could rank my rig and lass,

Still shearing and clearing

The tither stooked raw,

Wi’ claivers, an’ haivers,

Wearing the day awa:

Ev’n then a wish (I mind its power),

A wish that, to my latest hour,

Shall strongly heave my breast;

That I for poor auld Scotland’s sake,

Some usefu’ plan, or book could make,

Or sing a sang at least.

The rough bur-thistle, spreading wide

Amang the bearded bear,

I turned the weeding-hook aside,

An’ spared the symbol dear:

No nation, no station,

My envy e’er could raise;

A Scot still, but blot still,

I knew nae higher praise.

But still the elements o’ sang

In formless jumble, right an’ wrang,

Wild floated in my brain;

’Till on that har’st I said before,

My partner in the merry core,

She roused the forming strain:

I see her yet, the sonsie quean,

That lighted up my jingle,

Her witching smile, her pauky een,

That gart my heart-strings tingle;

I fired, inspired,

At ev’ry kindling keek,

But bashing, and dashing,

I feared aye to speak.