Page:Beauties of Burn's poems.pdf/89

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As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O‘er a' the ills o' life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white—then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit e'er you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form,
Evanishing amid the storm—
Nae man can tether time or tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in,
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in!

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last,
The rattlin show'rs rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;
Loud, deep and lang the thunder bellow'd!
That night a child might understand
The deil had bis'ness on his hand.

Weel mounted on his grey mare Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Despisin wind, and rain, and fire;
Whyles haddin fast his gude blue bonnet,
Whyles croonin owre some auld Scots sonnet;

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