ROBERT BURNS.
207
Every woman loves the singer
From the peasant to the queen,
For the sake of "Highland Mary,"
For the sake of "Bonny Jean."
From the peasant to the queen,
For the sake of "Highland Mary,"
For the sake of "Bonny Jean."
How he longed for better knowledge,
How he yearned for noble fame,
He, the ploughman, the unlettered,
Born to bear a humble name;—
(O my Poet! thou didst cast it
In the furrow of the years
That "A man's a man for a' that,"
Thou didst water it with tears;
Now the harvest time is coming,
Now the fields are white with grain,
Thou, the sower, art the reaper,
Binding sheaves on every plain!)
Ah! the human soul is deeper
Than the lore he never knew,
So the lays he sung shall echo
All the listening ages through.
How he yearned for noble fame,
He, the ploughman, the unlettered,
Born to bear a humble name;—
(O my Poet! thou didst cast it
In the furrow of the years
That "A man's a man for a' that,"
Thou didst water it with tears;
Now the harvest time is coming,
Now the fields are white with grain,
Thou, the sower, art the reaper,
Binding sheaves on every plain!)
Ah! the human soul is deeper
Than the lore he never knew,
So the lays he sung shall echo
All the listening ages through.
Tell us not of mighty princes
Ruling proud o'er shores and seas;
Robert Burns has kingdom grander
Than the stateliest of these!
Theirs by mountain chains is bounded
Or a river's winding line;
His sweeps broad from tropic palm-trees
To the farthest polar pine!
Ruling proud o'er shores and seas;
Robert Burns has kingdom grander
Than the stateliest of these!
Theirs by mountain chains is bounded
Or a river's winding line;
His sweeps broad from tropic palm-trees
To the farthest polar pine!
