Robert Anderson Poems

Tho' Youth thy path be strewn with flow'rs,
And mirth leads on the rosy hours;
Soon manhood proves the past a dream,
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Estrang'd from all I once held dear,
Reflection turns to pleasures past;
And pond'ring on life's mad career,
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The lasses o' Carel are weel shep'd, and bonny,
But he that wad win yen mun brag of his gear;
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The last new shoon our Betty gat,
They pinch her feet, the deil may care!
What, she mud hae them leady like,
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Yes, the maid I remember, who travers'd the wild,
And sung her sad song near the old wither'd thorn;
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When Skinflint once a week doth dine,
Bread serves for pyes, tarts, beef, and mutton;
Water he calls ale, beer, or wine;
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``Shepherd lad, thinly clad, leave these bleak mountains,
Fly to the town and its pleasures with me;
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The wind blew loud, the night was dark,
And heavy fell the rain,
When on the moor a hapless fair,
Aloud did thus complain:
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How blest the lowly Peasant's life,
Tho' Splendour scorns his humble lot,
Who, free from lordly cares and strife,
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'Twas Rob and Jock, and Hal and Jack,
And Tom and Ned forby,
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