But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace, O

Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice; O

I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther; O

But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.

When sometimes by my labor I earn a little money, 0 Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me; 0

Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly; O

But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O.

All

you who follow wealth and power, with unremitting ardor, O

The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther; O

the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore

Had you you, O

A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O.

THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE,

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR

A GUID New-Year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie:
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie,
I've seen the day,
Thou could hae gone like ony staggie
Out-owre the lay.

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy,
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisie,
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek an' glaizie,
A bonie gray:

He should been tight that daur't to raize thee,
Ance in a day.

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank,
An' set weel down a shapely shank,
As e'er tread yird;

An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, Like ony bird.

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year,
Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere;
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,
An' fifty mark;

Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear,
An' thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie: Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, Ye ne'er was donsie; But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, An unco sonsie.

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my bonie bride;
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride,
Wi' maiden air!
Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide,
For sic a pair.

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble An' wintle like a saumont-coble,

That day ye was a jinker noble
For heels an' win'!

An' ran them till they a' did wauble,
Far, far behin’.

When thou an' I were young and skeigh,
An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh,
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh
An' tak the road!

Town's-bodies ran, and stood abeigh,
An' ca't thee mad.

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow,
We took the road ay like a swallow:
At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow,
For pith an' speed;

But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow,
Whare'er thou gaed.

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle,
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle;
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle,
An' gart them whaizle:

Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle
O' saugh or hazel.

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn !

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun,
On guid March-weather
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han',
For days thegither.

Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit,
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd briskit,
Wi' pith an' pow'r,

Till spritty knowes wad rair't and riskit,
An' slypet owre.

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep,
An' threaten'd labor back to keep,
I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap
Aboon the timmer;
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep
For that, or simmer.

In cart or car thou never reestit;
The steyest brae thou wad hae face't it;
Thou never lap, an' sten't, and breastit,
Then stood to blaw;