II.
But my white pow, nae kindly thowe
Shall melt the snaws of age;
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield,
Sinks in Time’s wintry rage.
Oh! age has weary days,
And nights o’ sleepless pain!
Thou golden time o’ youthfu’ prime,
Why comes thou not again?
CCXVII.
TO MARY.
Tune—“Could aught of song.”
[These verses, inspired partly by Hamilton’s very tender and elegant song,
“Ah! the poor shepherd’s mournful fate,”
and some unrecorded “Mary” of the poet’s heart, is in the latter volumes of Johnson. “It is inserted in Johnson’s Museum,” says Sir Harris Nicolas, “with the name of Burns attached.” He might have added that it was sent by Burns, written with his own hand.]
I.