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If any alien foot profane the path.
So too the buck that trimmed my terraces,

Our whilome gardener, called the garden his;
Who now, deposed, surveys my plain abode

And his late kingdom, only from the road.
XXXVII

My body which my dungeon is,
And yet my parks and palaces:-

Which is so great that there I go
All the day long to and fro,

And when the night begins to fall
Throw down my bed and sleep, while all

The building hums with wakefulness -
Even as a child of savages

When evening takes her on her way,
(She having roamed a summer's day

Along the mountain-sides and scalp)
Sleeps in an antre of that alp:-

Which is so broad and high that there,
As in the topless fields of air,

My fancy soars like to a kite
And faints in the blue infinite:-

Which is so strong, my strongest throes
And the rough world's besieging blows

Not break it, and so weak withal,
Death ebbs and flows in its loose wall

As the green sea in fishers' nets,
And tops its topmost parapets:-

Which is so wholly mine that I
Can wield its whole artillery,

And mine so little, that my soul
Dwells in perpetual control,

And I but think and speak and do
As my dead fathers move me to:-

If this born body of my bones
The beggared soul so barely owns,

What money passed from hand to hand,
What creeping custom of the land,

What deed of author or assign,
Can make a house a thing of mine?

XXXVIII
Say not of me that weakly I declined

The labours of my sires, and fled the sea,
The towers we founded and the lamps we lit,

To play at some with paper like a child.
But rather say: IN THE AFTERNOON OF TIME

A STRENUOUS FAMILY DUSTED FROM ITS HANDS
THE SAND OF GRANITE, AND BEHOLDING FAR

ALONG THE SOUNDING COAST ITS PYRAMIDS
AND TALL MEMORIALS CATCH THE DYING SUN,

SMILED WELL CONTENT, AND TO THIS CHILDISH TASK
AROUND THE FIRE ADDRESSED ITS EVENING HOURS.

BOOK II. - In Scots
TABLE OF COMMON SCOTTISH VOWEL SOUNDS

ae }
ae } = open A as in rare.

a' }
au } = AW as in law

aw }
ea = open E as in mere, but this with exceptions, as

heather = heather, wean=wain, lear=lair.
ee }

ei } = open E as in mere.
ie }

oa = open O as in more.
ou = doubled O as in poor.

ow = OW as in bower.
u = doubled O as in poor.

ui or u-umlaut before R = (say roughly) open A as in
rare.

ui or u-umlaut before any other consonant = (say roughly)
close I as in grin.

y = open I as in kite.
i = pretty nearly what you please, much as in English,

Heaven guide the reader through that labyrinth! But in Scots
it dodges usually from the short I, as in grin, to the open E,

as in mere. Find the blind, I may remark, are prounced to
rhyme with the preterite of grin.

I - THE MAKER TO POSTERITY
Far `yont amang the years to be

When a' we think, an' a' we see,
An' a' we luve, `s been dung ajee

By time's rouch shouther,
An' what was richt and wrang for me

Lies mangled throu'ther,
It's possible - it's hardly mair -

That some ane, ripin' after lear -
Some auld professor or young heir,

If still there's either -
May find an' read me, an' be sair

Perplexed, puir brither!
"What tongue does your auld bookie speak?"

He'll spier; an' I, his mou to steik:
"No bein' fit to write in Greek,

I write in Lallan,
Dear to my heart as the peat reek,

Auld as Tantallon.
"Few spak it then, an' noo there's nane.

My puir auld sangs lie a' their lane,
Their sense, that aince was braw an' plain,

Tint a'thegether,
Like runes upon a standin' stane

Amang the heather.
"But think not you the brae to speel;

You, tae, maun chow the bitter peel;
For a' your lear, for a' your skeel,

Ye're nane sae lucky;
An' things are mebbe waur than weel

For you, my buckie.
"The hale concern (baith hens an' eggs,

Baith books an' writers, stars an' clegs)
Noo stachers upon lowsent legs

An' wears awa';
The tack o' mankind, near the dregs,

Rins unco law.
"Your book, that in some braw new tongue,

Ye wrote or prentit, preached or sung,
Will still be just a bairn, an' young

In fame an' years,
Whan the hale planet's guts are dung

About your ears;
"An' you, sair gruppin' to a spar

Or whammled wi' some bleezin' star,
Cryin' to ken whaur deil ye are,

Hame, France, or Flanders -
Whang sindry like a railway car

An' flie in danders."
II - ILLE TERRARUM

Frae nirly, nippin', Eas'lan' breeze,
Frae Norlan' snaw, an' haar o' seas,

Weel happit in your gairden trees,
A bonny bit,

Atween the muckle Pentland's knees,
Secure ye sit.

Beeches an' aiks entwine their theek,
An' firs, a stench, auld-farrant clique.

A' simmer day, your chimleys reek,
Couthy and bien;

An' here an' there your windies keek
Amang the green.

A pickle plats an' paths an' posies,
A wheen auld gillyflowers an' roses:

A ring o' wa's the hale encloses
Frae sheep or men;

An' there the auld housie beeks an' dozes,
A' by her lane.

The gairdner crooks his weary back
A' day in the pitaty-track,

Or mebbe stops awhile to crack
Wi' Jane the cook,

Or at some buss, worm-eaten-black,
To gie a look.

Frae the high hills the curlew ca's;
The sheep gang baaing by the wa's;

Or whiles a clan o' roosty craws
Cangle thegether;

The wild bees seek the gairden raws,
Weariet wi' heather.

Or in the gloamin' douce an' gray
The sweet-throat mavis tunes her lay;

The herd comes linkin' doun the brae;
An' by degrees

The muckle siller mune maks way
Amang the trees.

Here aft hae I, wi' sober heart,
For meditation sat apairt,

When orra loves or kittle art
Perplexed my mind;

Here socht a balm for ilka smart
O' humankind.

Here aft, weel neukit by my lane,
Wi' Horace, or perhaps Montaigne,

The mornin' hours hae come an' gane
Abune my heid -

I wadnae gi'en a chucky-stane
For a' I'd read.

But noo the auld city, street by street,
An' winter fu' o' snaw an' sleet,

Awhile shut in my gangrel feet
An' goavin' mettle;

Noo is the soopit ingle sweet,
An' liltin' kettle.

An' noo the winter winds complain;
Cauld lies the glaur in ilka lane;

On draigled hizzie, tautit wean
An' drucken lads,

In the mirk nicht, the winter rain
Dribbles an' blads.

Whan bugles frae the Castle rock,
An' beaten drums wi' dowie shock,

Wauken, at cauld-rife sax o'clock,
My chitterin' frame,

I mind me on the kintry cock,
The kintry hame.

I mind me on yon bonny bield;
An' Fancy traivels far afield

To gaither a' that gairdens yield
O' sun an' Simmer:

To hearten up a dowie chield,
Fancy's the limmer!

III


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