Now fare ye weel, an’ joy be wi’ you,
For my sake this I beg it o’ you.
Assist poor Simson a’ ye can,
Ye’ll fin’ him just an honest man;
Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter,
Your’s, saint or sinner,
Rob the Ranter.
LVI.
ON THE
BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD.
[From letters addressed by Burns to Mrs. Dunlop, it would appear that this “Sweet Flow’ret, pledge o’ meikle love,” was the only son of her daughter, Mrs. Henri, who had married a French gentleman. The mother soon followed the father to the grave: she died in the south of France, whither she had gone in search of health.]
Sweet flow’ret, pledge o’ meikle love,
And ward o’ mony a pray’r,
What heart o’ stane wad thou na move,
Sae helpless, sweet, and fair!
November hirples o’er the lea,
Chill on thy lovely form;
And gane, alas! the shelt’ring tree,
Should shield thee frae the storm.
May He who gives the rain to pour,
And wings the blast to blaw,
Protect thee frae the driving show’r,
The bitter frost and snaw!