John Watson Dalby

THEN Scotia came to him, and Auld Lang Syne,

And he poured out the story of his life,

Loves, struggles, studies, hope, despair, and strife;

Much thanks, some murmurs, but no childish whine;

And ever and anon the well-loved line

That fixed a principle or stamped a truth,

And crowned in manhood the best dreams of youth,—

Ne’er seemed the Bard of Ayr so all divine.

That wayside Inn shall be remembered yet,

And all our gossip o’er that humble glass.

By chance and in a chimney nook we met,

And Burns and Nature glorified the place.