# The Humble Petition Of Bruar Water

Source: "robertburns"
* The Humble Petition Of Bruar Water To the noble Duke of Athole
* My lord, I know your noble ear
* Woe ne'er assails in vain;
* Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear
* Your humble slave complain,
* How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams,
* In flaming summer-pride,
* Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,
* And drink my crystal tide.^1
* The lightly-jumping, glowrin' trouts,
* That thro' my waters play,
* If, in their random, wanton spouts,
* They near the margin stray;
* If, hapless chance! they linger lang,
* I'm scorching up so shallow,
* They're left the whitening stanes amang,
* In gasping death to wallow.
* Last day I grat wi' spite and teen,
* As poet Burns came by.
* That, to a bard, I should be seen
* Wi' half my channel dry;
* A panegyric rhyme, I ween,
* Ev'n as I was, he shor'd me;
* But had I in my glory been,
* He, kneeling, wad ador'd me.
* Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks,
* In twisting strength I rin;
* There, high my boiling torrent smokes,
* Wild-roaring o'er a linn:
* Enjoying each large spring and well,
* As Nature gave them me,
* I am, altho' I say't mysel',
* Worth gaun a mile to see.
* Would then my noble master please
* To grant my highest wishes,
* He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees,
* And bonie spreading bushes.
* Delighted doubly then, my lord,
* You'll wander on my banks,
* And listen mony a grateful bird
* Return you tuneful thanks.
* The sober lav'rock, warbling wild,
* Shall to the skies aspire;
* The gowdspink, Music's gayest child,
* Shall sweetly join the choir;
* The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear,
* The mavis mild and mellow;
* The robin pensive Autumn cheer,
* In all her locks of yellow.
* This, too, a covert shall ensure,
* To shield them from the storm;
* And coward maukin sleep secure,
* Low in her grassy form:
* Here shall the shepherd make his seat,
* To weave his crown of flow'rs;
* Or find a shelt'ring, safe retreat,
* From prone-descending show'rs.
* And here, by sweet, endearing stealth,
* Shall meet the loving pair,
* Despising worlds, with all their wealth,
* As empty idle care;
* The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms,
* The hour of heav'n to grace;
* And birks extend their fragrant arms
* To screen the dear embrace.
* Here haply too, at vernal dawn,
* Some musing bard may stray,
* And eye the smoking, dewy lawn,
* And misty mountain grey;
* Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,
* Mild-chequering thro' the trees,
* Rave to my darkly dashing stream,
* Hoarse-swelling on the breeze.
* Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,
* My lowly banks o'erspread,
* And view, deep-bending in the pool,
* Their shadow's wat'ry bed:
* Let fragrant birks, in woodbines drest,
* My craggy cliffs adorn;
* And, for the little songster's nest,
* The close embow'ring thorn.
* So may old Scotia's darling hope,
* Your little angel band
* Spring, like their fathers, up to prop
* Their honour'd native land!
* So may, thro' Albion's farthest ken,
* To social-flowing glasses,
* The grace be-"Athole's honest men,
* And Athole's bonie lasses! 1787
[Footnote 1: Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful; but their effect is much impaired by the want of trees and shrubs. - R.B.]
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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