Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850–1894). A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods. 1913.

XV. To Doctor John Brown

(Whan the dear doctor, dear to a’,

Was still amang us here belaw,

I set my pipes his praise to blaw

Wi’ a’ my speerit;

But noo, Dear Doctor! he’s awa’,

An’ ne’er can hear it.)

BY Lyne and Tyne, by Thames and Tees

By a’ the various river-Dee’s,

In Mars and Manors ’yont the seas

Or here at hame,

Whaure’er there’s kindly folk to please,

They ken your name.

They ken your name, they ken your tyke,

They ken the honey from your byke;

But mebbe after a’ your fyke,

(The trüth to tell)

It’s just your honest Rab they like,

An’ no yoursel’.

As at the gowff, some canny play’r

Should tee a common ba’ wi’ care—

Should flourish and deleever fair

His souple shintie—

An’ the ba’ rise into the air,

A leevin’ lintie:

Sae in the game we writers play,

There comes to some a bonny day,

When a dear ferlie shall repay

Their years o’ strife,

An’ like you Rab, their things o’ clay

Spreid wings o’ life.

Ye scarce deserved it, I’m afraid—

You that had never learned the trade,

But just some idle mornin’ strayed

Into the schüle,

An’ picked the fiddle up an’ played

Like Neil himsel’.

Your e’e was gleg, your fingers dink;

Ye didnae fash yoursel’ to think,

But wove, as fast as puss can link,

Your denty wab:—

Ye stapped your pen into the ink,

An’ there was Rab!

Sinsyne, whaure’er your fortune lay

By dowie den, by canty brae,

Simmer an’ winter, nicht an’ day,

Rab was aye wi’ ye;

An’ a’ the folk on a’ the way

Were blithe to see ye.

O sir, the gods are kind indeed,

An’ hauld ye for an honoured heid,

That for a wee bit clarkit screed

Sae weel reward ye,

An’ lend—puir Rabbie bein’ deid—

His ghaist to guard ye.

For though, whaure’er yousel’ may be,

We’ve just to turn an’ glisk a wee,

An’ Rab at heel we’re shüre to see

Wi’ gladsome caper:

The bogle of a bogle, he—

A ghaist o’ paper!

And as the auld-farrand hero sees

In Hell a bogle Hercules,

Pit there the lessen deid to please,

While he himsel’

Dwalls wi’ the muckle gods at ease

Far raised frae hell:

Sae the true Rabbie far has gane

On kindlier business o’ his ain

Wi’ aulder frien’s; an’ his breist-bane

An’ stumpie tailie,

He birstles at a new hearth stane

By James and Ailie.