Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/225
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THE POEMS OF BURNS.
169
'I BURN, I BURN.'
'I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn,
By driving winds the crackling flames are borne,'
Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal night;
Now bless the hour which charm'd my guilty sight.
In vain the laws their feeble force oppose :
Chain'd at his feet they groan, Love's vanquish'd foes;
In vain religion meets my sinking eye;
I dare not combat—but I turn and fly;
Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallowed fire;
Love grasps his scorpions—stifled they expire!
Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne,
Your dear idea reigns and reigns alone:
Each thought intoxicated homage yields,
And riots wanton in forbidden fields!
By driving winds the crackling flames are borne,'
Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal night;
Now bless the hour which charm'd my guilty sight.
In vain the laws their feeble force oppose :
Chain'd at his feet they groan, Love's vanquish'd foes;
In vain religion meets my sinking eye;
I dare not combat—but I turn and fly;
Conscience in vain upbraids th' unhallowed fire;
Love grasps his scorpions—stifled they expire!
Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne,
Your dear idea reigns and reigns alone:
Each thought intoxicated homage yields,
And riots wanton in forbidden fields!
By all on high adoring mortals know!
By all the conscious villain fears below!
By your dear self!—the last great oath I swear;
Nor life nor soul were ever half so dear!
By all the conscious villain fears below!
By your dear self!—the last great oath I swear;
Nor life nor soul were ever half so dear!
TAM THE CHAPMAN.
As Tam the Chapman on a day
Wi' Death forgather'd by the way,
Weel pleas'd, he greets a wight sae famous,
And Death was nae less pleased wi' Thomas,
Wha cheerfully lays down the pack,
And there blaws up a hearty crack;
His social, friendly, honest heart,
Sae tickled Death they could na part:
Sae after viewing knives and garters,
Death takes him hame to gie him quarters.
Wi' Death forgather'd by the way,
Weel pleas'd, he greets a wight sae famous,
And Death was nae less pleased wi' Thomas,
Wha cheerfully lays down the pack,
And there blaws up a hearty crack;
His social, friendly, honest heart,
Sae tickled Death they could na part:
Sae after viewing knives and garters,
Death takes him hame to gie him quarters.
TO DR. MAXWELL.
ON MISS JESSY STAIG'S RECOVERY.
Maxwell, if merit here you crave,
That merit I deny:
You save fair Jessy from the grave!
An Angel could not die.
That merit I deny:
You save fair Jessy from the grave!
An Angel could not die.