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Hughie Refuses to Emigrate, pp.12-14.

[Horace in Homespun Contents]

Ibi tu calentem 

Debita sparges lacrima favillam 

Vatis amici.” – CAR. II., 6. 

MATTHIE, nae mair! ye’se gang your lane! 

Tak’ my best wishes wi’ ye, 

An’ may guid fortun’ owre the main 

An’ snugly settled see ye! 

I wuss ye weel! the kintra’s lairge, 

An ye’re but twa wi’ Mary; 

Ye’ll shortly hae the owner’s chairge 

Nae doot o’ half a prairie. 

There’s ample room in sic a park 

To foond a score o’ nations, 

An’ flourish like a patriarch 

Amon’ your generations. 


But me may Scotland’s bonnie hills 

Maintain to utmost auld age, 

Leadin’ my flocks by quiet rills, 

An’ lingerin’ thro’ the gold age; 

Untemptit wi’ a foreign gain 

That mak’s ye merely laird oo’t, 

An’ thinkin Scotland a’ min’ ain 

Tho’ ownin’ ne’er a yaird o’t! 


What hills are like the Ochil hills? 

There’s nane sae green, tho’ grander; 

What rills are like the Ochil rills? 

Nane, nane on earth that wander! 

There Spring returns amon’ the sleet, 

Ere Winter’s tack be near thro’; 

There Spring an’ Simmer fain wad meet 

To tarry a’ the year thro’! 


An’ there in green Glendevon’s shade 

A grave at last be found me, 

Wi’ daisies growin’ at my head 

An’ Devon lingerin’ round me! 

Nae stane disfigurement o’ grief 

Wi’ lang narration rise there; 

A line wad brawly serve, if brief, 

To tell the lave wha lies there. 


But ony sculptur’d wecht o’ stane 

Wad onlly overpow’r me; 

A shepherd, musin’ there his lane, 

Were meeter bendin’ owre me. 

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