SCOTS' EPISTLE TO ANDREW CARNEGIE, Esq., SKIBO.

Otago Witness, Issue 2762, 20 February 1907, Page 82

SCOTS' EPISTLE TO AN DREW CARNEGIE, Esq., SKIBO.

The humblest o* bardic tribe, I come na fishin' fur a bribe, Altho' I'm mindin' t«a transcribe A heap o' claivers, Fur you. Carnegie, tae imbibe Wi' ither havers. > Poets, 'tis said, hew sm*' discretion; An' are ower free in their expression, Which, if allooed— a am* 1 concession^ They gain nocht by it But t%e> offend tho kirk *n' session, An' breed a riot. F-iir say they this or -»ay they 4h*#, I'll always write what comes maist pMj, * Jist as it rises 'neath'ma hat, Within ma brain ; Bui wadna' fur a thoosan tpratGie ony pain. But losh! wha. is na glad t«e kon There's am amang oor Nortlrern men), Wha his the generous hert tae seen Amang his am, And gledden every strath an' glen Wi' hopes o' gain. Tae mak *e> hert oppressed wi' car*, Rise frae the depths o' daurk despair, An' gang rejoicin' evermair, Is nae smx' praise. An' in his honour we'll & prayer An' anthem raise. Noo gae y« Wast or gae ye East, There's waitiu' ye a mental feast, Nas thanks tae presbyter or priest, But tae Carnegie, •» Tho' some folk micht prefer the yewi* Adoon their craigie ! But that's no ms. Leeze me on !ore, Fur books I aye liked tae explore, lie mair I read I craiked fur more, But aft -went stairvin'. An och! the hunger that I bor« Was maiet unnervin'. Whiles whan I earned an extra groat, It wisna wared on niooth or coat, But some auld farrant book I bougb Oot o' a box, Then aff I set tae some quate spo." Frood as a fox. An'- sac it came aboot ere lang. That I masel could write a sang, An' c'en a sarmon wi' a bang That mads rogues shiver; Perhaps it wia ma broad Scots slivcg, That altered niver. But oh! it wis a sair expense Tae work an' study sa© intense Mftist robbed me baith o' health an' iense,, An' bent ma back, Fur then was nae Carnegie pence, , !Na — not a plack. At lang an' last I managed through, As mony mair Scots callants do, Xor ever kenned I ane tae rue The weary fecht, Fur learnin' tae a scholar true S'worth ony pecht. Whan noo the mystic words — M.D:, Behin' ma quid Scots name I see, Faur through the tears that dim ma ♦•' I scan the past. An' wish I could those pleesures prie That sped owre fast. Your worthy cousin, Dame M-atxreegos (She'll tell ye I am nae intriguer). Wad like at Skibo Ha' tae figger, Before she' 3 grippet ; Fur weel she kens by Death the niggefi She'll sune b© snippet. As fur masel', I'm auld an' dune. An' care na Death comes late or sune. Ma troubles hue been faur abun« The common lot. An' =ac I dinna mind a ?pune> Hoo sune I rot. Owre lang I ha« been Fortune'^ ba', An' owe her mony a scurvy ihraw, Fur aince °he even jouked awa Ma quid rlcht leg, But yei I've warslt thro' it a* Xor e'er did beg. Lang syne the jade c'en brak' ma back, omd sakes that wis an unca- whack, An' kept ma bedded on the rack Fur twelve months lang: But I've repaid h»r mony a. smack In quid Scots sang. 1 am nae saint — the Lord forbid— An' yet I've dune a lot o' quid. Altho' I mu°-t confess ma bluid Is unco het. But that is easy understude In Cupid's pet. I never thocht o' makin' gear. The mutes aye tae me were dear. Burns and Scott and great Shakespeare And mony mac, Possessed ma soul, and helped iz» clu-yB The mirkest day. "SLa thanks fur kindly deeds ye dae. Fur books wee! hoosed an' organs play. An' fur the wyse-like words ye lay In book an' speech, Faur wyser than ths sermon bray That parsons preach. Sac here's ma haun, ma worthy frer», Lang me ye leeve frae ycur iae year, A* ye wull dae if ony here Hae pooer on high, An' aye be layin' up mair gear Ayont the sky. Ma blcssins on your wife an' bairn, Fain wad I raise tae them a cairn. That micht in future ages earn Immortal fame. An' maybe bring the bard a fairin, Withooten blana«. I whh, Carnegie, ye'd appear Amang us the ensuin' year. An' help us puir folk tae 'uprear A Burns Ha' And Scottish Institute, — twad chefeP The herts o' a. A place whaur Scottish maid 1 ? an' ine^ Uicht meet thegither noo an' then, A halesorne hoor or twa tae spen' In social play An' liat'nin tae the sangs a' ken Are Scotsmens joy. Wsc. I£. Stehhour^