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 sve pin,
how saucy phoebus' scorg beams,
in fming summer-pride,
dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,
and drink my crystal tide.
the lightly-jumping, glowrin' trouts,
that thro' my waters py,
if, in their random, wanton spouts,
they he margin stray;
if, hapless ce! they linger ng,
i'm scorg up so shallow,
they're left the whitening stanes amang,
in gaspih to wallow.
st day i grat wi' spite and teen,
as poet burns came by.
that, to a bard, i should be seen
wi' half my el 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-r o'er a linn:
enjoying each rge spring and well,
as nature gave them me,
i am, altho' i say't mysel',
waun a mile to see.
would then my noble master please
to grant my highest wishes,
he'll shade my banks wi' tow&# 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 v'rock, warbling wild,
shall to the skies aspire;
the gowdspink, music's gayest child,
shall sweetly join the choir;
the bckbird strong, the lintwhite clear,
the mavis mild and mellow;
the robin peumn 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 of flow'rs;
or find a shelt&#, safe retreat,
from prone-desding 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 s the dear embrace.
here haply too, at vernal dawn,
some musing bard may stray,
ahe smoking, dewy wn,
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 ,
the close embow&# thorn.
so may old scotia's darling hope,
your little angel band
spring, like their fathers, up to prop
their honour'd native nd!
so may, thro' albion's farthest ken,
to social-flowing gsses,
the grace be—“athole's ho men,
and athole's bonie sses!