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UNDERWOODS
I
THE MAKER TO POSTERITY
FAR 'yont amang the years to be,
When a' we think, an' a' we see,
An' a' we luve, 's, been dung ajeeknocked aside
By time's rouch shouther,shoulder
An' what was richt and wrang for me
Lies mangled throu'ther,all together
It's possible—it's hardly mair—
That some ane, ripin' after lear—groping after learning
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?"ask
He'll spier; an' I, his mou' to steik:close
"No bein' fit to write in Greek,
I wrote in Lallan,Lowlands
Dear to my heart as the peat-reek,smoke
Auld as Tantallon.
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