XXXVIII

AY not of me that weakly I declined

SAY

sea,

The towers we founded and the lamps we lit,
To play at home with paper like a child.
But rather say: In the afternoon of time
A strenuous family dusted from its hands
The sand of granite, and beholding far
Along the sounding coast its pyramids
And tall memorials catch the dying sun,
Smiled well content, and to this childish task
Around the fire addressed its evening hours.

BOOK II

IN SCOTS

ea =

ee

ei

ie

oa

=

=

AW as in law.

open E as in mere, but this with exceptions, as heather

=

open E as in mere.

heather, wean = wain,

= open O as in more. ou doubled O as in poor.

OW

u =

=

OW as in bower. doubled O as in poor.

ui or ü before R

rare.

=

(say roughly) open A as in

ui or ü before any other consonant roughly) close I as in grin.

pretty nearly what you please, much as in English. Heaven guide the reader through that labyrinth! But in Scots it dodges usually from the short I, as in grin, to the open E, as in mere. Find and blind, I may remark, are pronounced to rhyme with the preterite of grin.

THE MAKER TO POSTERITY

FAR

'AR 'yont amang the years to be
When a' we think,

an' a' we see,

An' a' we luve, 's been dung ajee

By time's rouch shouther,

An' what was richt and wrang for me
Lies mangled throu❜ther,

It's possible

it's hardly mair

That some ane, ripin' after lear
Some auld professor or young heir,
If still there's either -

May find an' read me, an' be sair
Perplexed, puir brither!

"What tongue does your auld bookie speak?”
He'll spier; an' I, his mou to steik:
"No bein' fit to write in Greek,

I wrote in Lallan,

Dear to my heart as the peat reek,
Auld as Tantallon.

"Few spak it then, an' noo there's nane.
My puir auld sangs lie a' their lane,

Their sense, that aince was braw an' plain,
Tint a'thegether,

Like runes upon a standin' stane
Amang the heather.

"But think not you the brae to speel;
You, tae, maun chow the bitter peel;
For a' your lear, for a' your skeel,
Ye're nane sae lucky;

An' things are mebbe waur than weel
For you, my buckie.

"The hale concern (baith hens an' eggs,
Baith books an' writers, stars an' clegs)
Noo stachers upon lowsent legs,
An' wears awa';

The tack o' mankind, near the dregs,
Rins unco law.

"Your book, that in some braw new tongue,
Ye wrote or prentit, preached or sung,
Will still be just a bairn, an' young
In fame an' years,

Whan the hale planet's guts are dung
About your ears;

66

'An' you, sair gruppin' to a spar Or whammled wi' some bleezin' star,