But tent me, Davie, Ace o’ Hearts!
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes,
And flatt’ry I detest)
This life has joys for you and I;
And joys that riches ne’er could buy;
And joy’s the very best.
There’s a’ the Pleasures o’ the Heart,
The Lover an’ the Frien’;
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part,
And I my darling Jean!
It warms me, it charms me,
To mention but her name:
It heats me, it beets me,
And sets me a’ on flame!
O all ye Pow’rs who rule above!
O Thou, whose very self art love!
Thou know’st my words sincere!
The life-blood streaming thro’ my heart,
Or my more dear Immortal part,
Is not more fondly dear!
When heart-corroding care and grief
Deprive my soul of rest,
Her dear idea brings relief,
And solace to my breast.
Thou Being, All-seeing,
O hear my fervent pray’r!
Still take her, and make her
Thy most peculiar care!
All hail! ye tender feelings dear!
The smile of love, the friendly tear,
The sympathetic glow;
Long since, this world’s thorny ways
Had number’d out my weary days,
Had it not been for you!
Fate still has blest me with a friend,
In ev’ry care and ill;
And oft a more endearing band,
A tie more tender still.
It lightens, it brightens,
The tenebrific scene,
To meet with, and greet with
My Davie, or my Jean!
from Epistle to Davie, A Brother Poet, by Robert Burns, whose birthday was today.
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