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Know, prudent cautious self-control
Is wisdom's root.
Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion,
Round the wealthy bride;
But when compar'd with real passion
Poor is all that pride,--
What are their showy treasures?
What are their noisy pleasures?--
The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art--
The polish 'd jewels blaze
May draw the wond'ring gaze,
But never, never can come near the worthy heart.
Nae man can tether time nor tide.
Not the poet in the moment
Fancy lightens on his e'e,
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,
That thy presence gies to me.
O death! the poor man's dearest friend,
The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour, my aged limbs
Are laid with thee at rest!
O doul on the day that gae me an old man.
O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time,
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;
Which tenfold force give nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.
Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care,
A burden more than I can bear,
I sit me down and sigh;
O, life! thou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I.
Painters and poets have liberty to lie.
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate,
Full on thy bloom.
Suspense is worst than disappointment.
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end,
But who can with fate and quart bumpers contend?
Though Fate said, a hero should perish ill light;
So up rose bright Phoebus, and down fell the knight.
The heart aye's the part aye
That makes us right or wrang.
The life blood streaming thro' my heart,
Or my more dear immortal part,
Is not more fondly dear.
Then crowned with flowery hay, came real joy, and summer, with his fervid-beaming eye.
They dazzle our eyes as they fly to our hearts.
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear,
Remember Tam o'Shanter's mare.
To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by every 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.
To make three guineas do the work of five.
To step aside is human.
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
Thou bonnie gem.
Who made the heart, 'tis He alone,
Decidedly can try us,
He knows each chord--its various tone
Each spring its various bias:
Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;
What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted.
Ye tiny elves, that guiltless sport,
Like linnets in the bush,
Ye little know the ill ye court,
When manhood is your wish!
The losses, the crosses,
That active men engage;
The fears all, the tears all,
Of dim declining age.
Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing;
I sat, but neither heard nor saw.
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