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Translation
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To Wm. Tytler, Esq., Of Woodhouselee
With an impression of the authors portrait

 

Burns Original

Standard English Translation

 

1.
Revered defender of beauteous Stuart,
Of Stuart! - a name once respected,
A name which to love was once mark of a true heart,
But now 'tis despis'd and neglected!
2.
Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye -
Let no one misdeem me disloyal!
A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh -
Still more, if that wand'rer were royal.
3.
My Fathers that name have rever'd on a throne;
My Fathers have fallen to right it:
Those Fathers would spurn their degenerate son,
That name, should he scoffingly slight it.
4.
Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join,
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry;
Be they wise, be they foolish, in nothing of mine:
Their title's avow'd by my country.
5.
But why of that epocha make such a fuss
That gave us the Hanover stem?
If bringing them over was lucky for us,
I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them.
6.
But loyalty - truce! we're on dangerous ground:
Who knows how the fashions may alter?
The doctrine, to-day that is loyalty sound,
To-morrow may bring us a halter!
7.
I send you a trifle, a head of a Bard,
A trifle scarce worthy your care;
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard,
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.
8.
Now Life's chilly evening dim-shades on your eye,
And ushers the long dreary night;
But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky,
Your course to the latest is bright.

 


Revered defender of beauteous Stuart,
Of Stuart! - a name once respected,
A name which to love was once mark of a true heart,
But now it is despised and neglected!

Though something like moisture conglobes in my eye -
Let no one misdeem me disloyal!
A poor friendless wanderer may well claim a sigh -
Still more, if that wanderer were royal.

My Fathers that name have revered on a throne;
My Fathers have fallen to right it:
Those Fathers would spurn their degenerate son,
That name, should he scoffingly slight it.

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join,
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry;
Be they wise, be they foolish, in nothing of mine:
Their title is avowed by my country.

But why of that epoch make such a fuss
That gave us the Hanover stem?
If bringing them over was lucky for us,
I am sure it was as lucky for them.

But loyalty - truce! we are on dangerous ground:
Who knows how the fashions may alter?
The doctrine, to-day that is loyalty sound,
To-morrow may bring us a halter!

I send you a trifle, a head of a Bard,
A trifle scarce worthy your care;
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard,
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

Now Life's chilly evening dim-shades on your eye,
And ushers the long dreary night;
But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky,
Your course to the latest is bright.

 

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