[Or] Grecian bards, who ever merit praise.
How dares my humble hand assume so high?
No common character inspires my song,
His growing fame long since has reach’d the sky:
All I can say but does his virtues wrong;
Let then my blund’ring pen in silence rest;
Lo, silent admiration paints them best.
AN
EPISTLE
TO
MR. ROBERT BURNS.
FAIRFA’ the honest rustic swain,