The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1891-04-05
TO ROBERT BURNS.

Robin, tho, lang ye haze been dead
we're llvln' still as lang ye're read;
An TIL the time I've lost my head,
III ca We brither,
How aft I've followed whan ye lead,
AS did nae ither.
Ye was. nae doubt. a winsome carl
AS ever danced thro' this aud warl!
An mucSie din, an righteous snaci
fe gard them max:
An tho ye was nae duke nor arl.
Se took the cake.
lie had great gift o, CAB. nae doubt:
An hypocrites sac feared thy knout.
When you was In, they wanted out,
An weel they might;
ihey kenned yed soon put them to rout-
An serve 'em right,
Ye lo'ed the maidens a.. itsee med:
An by your sangs. ye maun haze dreamed
bout them, Rab-or swats sac reamed
Within your noddle;
10 WouiQna haze at Mamie screamed.
An fetched the boyle.
An Rab. ken. ye Io.ed the drink;
100 art, o nights. ye slept nae wink,
An how the dell your crambe-clink
Kept aye in tune!
Whan stumpie ga'ed down + the ink.
Out CAM u Groom!
1t made nae differ. WHARF or when.
Anang the maids or 'mang the men,
lie never lacked rhymin' end
10 a your verse;
Guild luck, ye dinna condescend
TO naething worse.
Ye skelped the lads who wore the gown.
An set their heads to whrlin' roun';
An may be mair-they tunbled down
In vera shame.
There is nae donbt ye kept the toun
a IN flannel
An then ye dinna stop at that.
But just apo your mettle gat,
An hlSS'u your baudron on their rat.
To gar them squeal;
", Rab. Ken ye wOuldna' Quae.
TIL they could feel
Now Rab. hope you'll think nae wrang.
II should mention twa. three ssngs.
Or maybe inair, as gaze lang
In this my br ief;
Oid Scotia rs, where'er they gang.
Think gt'es relief.
There's ane "Amang the Rigs" mind,
We sang about, an sang sac Kind.
nat ane Wad think ye were clean blind,
WI your affection:
But then ye sang o. Aud Lang Syne,'
frae recollectionl
An then that night sac muckle lorn.
Ye wandered out anent the barn;
Your Jean, she followed you to warn
Against the frost;
Ye sang to Mary IN. the starn,
An maist was lost.
Another sang ye crooned sac weel-
maist forget the words mysel-
About John Barleycorn to tell.
They bruised his head:
An how they treated him sac Ill,
An laid him dead.
Now, Robin lad. boon beg.
Nor think me nae owre fast or gleg;
Please gle me your aud jocteieg.
You used to haze.
To sharpen stumpie on your leg:
III keep 1t aye.
For ithers, Rab. Id bless your sani.
Haze tampored wi your aud punch bowl.
An writ thereon a rigmarole-
An wad va think
They put siller rim, Pm tauld.
Around the brink
An then they've ta'en some papers left
BY you, an act like folks bereft:
They lock them up like ony gift
They sairly prize;
Sic praise they sing aboon the lift.
Wad ope your eyes!
But. Rab. We ken. as weel as
They let you In your pOOrtith die;
An thought. nae doubt, to let you Lie
Amang the lave;
Yet raised a monument up high
Aboon your gravel
Sac gaes 1t Rab: as lang as time,
They've treated them o. muckle rhyme;
An daubed them DER wi a the slime
o. critics spite
An when they're dead. then ilka crime.
They max 1t light!
Then you an I, an a. SIC Fix,
Maun Kill the kye to get the milk:
While ithers dress in claes o. silk,
We'se gaze In fustian;
dinna ken; but leave the whilk
An open question.
JOHN W. BEEBE.