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The pith o' sense and pride o' worth
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree1 and a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,

It's comin' yet for a' that,

That man to man, the world 2 o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that!

To a Mountain Daisy.

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure3
Thy slender stem:

To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
Thou bonie gem.

Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
The bonie Lark, companion meet!
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! 4
Wi' 5 speckl'd breast,

When upward springing, blythe, to greet
The purpling East.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting North
Upon thy early, humble birth;

Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,

Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.

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I never saw a fairer,

I never lo'ed a dearer,

And neist1 my heart I'll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine."

She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o' mine.
The warld's wrack3 we share o't,
The warstle and the care o't;
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it,
And think my lot divine.

Epistle to a Young Friend.

I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ friend,
A something to have sent you,
Tho' it should serve nae other end
Than just a kind memento;

But how the subject-theme may gang,5
Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps, turn out a sermon.

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad,
And, Andrew dear, believe me,
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad

And muckle they may grieve ye:
For care and trouble set your thought,
Ev'n when your end's attained;
And a' your views may come to nought,
When ev'ry nerve is strained.

I'll no say men are villains a';

The real, hardened wicked

Wha hae nae check but human law
Are to a few restricked.

But, och! mankind are unco weak,
An' little to be trusted;

If self the wavering balance shake,
It's rarely right adjusted!

1 Next.

2 To lose.

3 Trouble. 4 Struggle.

5 Go.

* Strange crew.

Yet they wha fa" in fortune's strife,
Their fate we shouldna censure,
For still the important end of life
They equally may answer:
A man may hae an honest heart,
Tho' poortith' hourly stare him;
A man may tak a neebor's part

Yet hae nae cash to spare him.

Aye free, aff-han',3 your story tell,
When wi' a bosom crony;
But still keep something to yoursel
Ye scarcely tell to ony.*
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can
Frae critical dissection;

But keek thro' ev'ry other man
Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection.

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love,
Luxuriantly indulge it;

But never tempt th' illicit rove,
Tho' naething should divulge it;
I wave the quantum' o' the sin,
The hazard o' concealing;
But, och! it hardens a' within,
And petrifies the feeling!

To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile
Assiduous wait upon her;

And gather gears by ev'ry wile

That's justified by honor:
Not for to hide it in a hedge,

Nor for a train attendant,
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip
To haud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honor grip10
Let that aye be your border:

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Its slightest touches, instant pause

Debar a' side pretences;
And resolutely keep its laws,
Uncaring consequences.

The great Creator to revere

Must sure become the creature:
But still the preaching cant forbear,
And ev'n the rigid feature;

Yet ne'er with wits profane to range
Be complaisance1 extended;

An atheist laugh's a poor exchange
For Deity offended!

When ranting round in pleasure's ring,

Religion may be blinded;

Or, if she gie2 a random sting,

It may be little minded;

But when on life we're tempest-driv'n,—-
A conscience but3 a canker,

A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n
Is sure a noble anchor!

Adieu, dear, amiable youth!

Your heart can ne'er be wanting!

May prudence, fortitude, and truth
Erect your brow undaunting!

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In ploughman phrase, God send you speed,"

Still daily to grow wiser;

And may ye better reck the rede

Then ever did th' Adviser!

Highland Mary.

Ye banks and braes and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery!

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie: 6

There simmer first unfauld her robes,

And there the langest tarry;

For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

1 Courtesy. 2 Give. Without. Success. 5 Heed the advice. Muddy. 7 Summer.

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