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epistle to ajor logan

hail, thair-spir&039;, rattl&039; willie!

tho&039; fortune&039;s road be rough an&039; hilly

to every fiddlg, rhyg billie,

we never heed,

but take it like the unback&039;d filly,

proud o&039; her speed

when, idly goav&039;, whiles we saunter,

yirr! fancy barks, awa we canter,

up hill, down brae, till ischanter,

bck bog-hole,

arrests ; then the scathe an&039; banter

we&039;re forced to thole

hale be your heart! hale be your fiddle!

ng ay your elbuck jk and diddle,

to cheer you through the weary widdle

o&039; this wild warl&039;

until you on a cruock driddle,

a grey hair&039;d carl

e wealth, e poortith, te or on,

heaven send your heart-strgs aye tune,

and screw your teper-ps aboon

a fifth or air

the ncholio, zy croon

o&039; cankrie care

ay still your life fro day to day,

nae “lente rgo” the py,

but “allegretto forte” gay,

haronio flow,

a sweepg, kdlg, bauld strathspey—

enre! bravo!

a blessg on the cheery gang

wha dearly like a jig or sang,

an&039; never thk o&039; right an&039; wrang

by sare an&039; rule,

but, as the clegs o&039; feelg stang,

are wise or fool

y hand-waled curse keep hard chase

the harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race,

wha unt on poortith as disgrace;

their tuneless hearts,

ay fireside disrds jar a base

to a&039; their parts

but e, your hand, y careless brither,

i&039; th&039; ither warl&039;, if there&039;s anither,

an&039; that there is, i&039;ve little swither

about the atter;

we, cheek for chow, shall jog thegither,

i&039;se ne&039;er bid better

we&039;ve faults and failgs—granted clearly,

we&039;re frail backslidg ortals rely,

eve&039;s bonie sad, priests wyte the sheerly