Verses Written for the Burns' Club,
Held at Mr. Wallace's, Nag's Head, Newcastle, Jany 1817.

The rolling year at length brings forth
The day that gave our poet birth;
O Burns! to testify thy worth,
We're hither met--
Nae genius i' the South or North
Can match thee yet.

Of ither's rhumes we have enow,
But sic as thine are rare and few--
For aye to nature thou wert true,
Thou bard divine!
Nae poet Scotia ever knew
Could sing sae fine.

With rapture, each returning Spring,
I'll follow thee, on Fancy's wing,
To where the lively linnets sing
In hawthorn shade;
Here oft thy muse, deep pondering,
Sweet sonnets made.

With thee I'll stray by streamlet's side,
And view the bonnie wimpling tide
O'ere polish'd pebbles smoothly glide,
Wi' murm'ring sound,
While Nature, in her rustic pride,
Smiles all around.

Or to the fells I'll follow thee,
Where o're the thistle burns gthe bee,
And meek-eyed gowans modestly
Their charms disclose,
And where , upon its 'thorney tree,"
Blows the wild rose.

Or to the heath, where faries meet
In mystic dance with nimble feet,
By moonlight--there the elves I'll greet,
And join theirrevels;
Or on a "rag -weed nag", sae fleet,
Fly wi' the devils!

Through fields of beans, with rich perfune,
And o'ere the bracs o' yellow broom
That gilds the bonny banks o' Doon,
Wi' thee I'll rove,
Where thou, when blest in youthful bloom,
Stray'd with thy love.

When thunder-storms the heav'ns do rend,
Unto Benlomond's top I'll wend,
And view the clouds electric vend
The forked flash!
And hear the pouring rains descend
Wi' dreadful clash!

A fig for meikle bags o' wealth,
If I hae food, and claes, and health,
And thy sweet sangs upon my shelf,
I'll gaily trudge it
Through life, and freely quit the pelf
For Robin's budget.

And when distracting moments teaze me,
Or fell Oppressions grapples sieze me,
A lesson frae thy book may ease me,
Sae I may hear
Misfortune's wipes, till death release me
Frae canker'd care.

H. Robson-In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce
Newcastle Upon Tyne.