Tam Samsons Elegy（1 / 4）
tam samson's elegy
an honest man's the noblest work of god—pope.
when this worthy old sportman went out, last muirfowl season, he supposed it was to be, in ossian's phrase, “the last of his fields,” and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. on this hint the author composed his elegy and epitaph.—r.b., 1787.
has auld kilmarnock seen the deil?
or great mackinlay thrawn his heel?
or robertson again grown weel,
to preach an' read?
“na' waur than a'!” cries ilka chiel,
“tam samson's dead!”
kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane,
an' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane,
an' cleed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean,
in mourning weed;
to death she's dearly pay'd the kane—
tam samson's dead!
the brethren, o' the mystic level
may hing their head in woefu' bevel,
while by their nose the tears will revel,
like ony bead;
death's gien the lodge an unco devel;
tam samson's dead!
when winter muffles up his cloak,
and binds the mire like a rock;
when to the loughs the curlers flock,
wi' gleesome speed,
wha will they station at the cock?
tam samson's dead!
when winter muffles up his cloak,
he was the king o' a' the core,
to guard, or draw, or wick a bore, ↑返回顶部↑
an honest man's the noblest work of god—pope.
when this worthy old sportman went out, last muirfowl season, he supposed it was to be, in ossian's phrase, “the last of his fields,” and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. on this hint the author composed his elegy and epitaph.—r.b., 1787.
has auld kilmarnock seen the deil?
or great mackinlay thrawn his heel?
or robertson again grown weel,
to preach an' read?
“na' waur than a'!” cries ilka chiel,
“tam samson's dead!”
kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane,
an' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane,
an' cleed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean,
in mourning weed;
to death she's dearly pay'd the kane—
tam samson's dead!
the brethren, o' the mystic level
may hing their head in woefu' bevel,
while by their nose the tears will revel,
like ony bead;
death's gien the lodge an unco devel;
tam samson's dead!
when winter muffles up his cloak,
and binds the mire like a rock;
when to the loughs the curlers flock,
wi' gleesome speed,
wha will they station at the cock?
tam samson's dead!
when winter muffles up his cloak,
he was the king o' a' the core,
to guard, or draw, or wick a bore, ↑返回顶部↑