Poems & songs . nd more they drank. Their joy did more abound. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise;For if you do but taste his blood, Twill make your courage rise. Twill make a man forget his woe; Twill heighten all his joy :Twill make the widows heart to sing, Tho the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand ;And may his great posterity Neer fail in old Scotland! VERSES11 ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME WHICH A FELLOWHAD JUST SHOT. Inhuman man! curse on thy barbrous art, And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; May never pity soothe
Poems & songs . nd more they drank. Their joy did more abound. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise;For if you do but taste his blood, Twill make your courage rise. Twill make a man forget his woe; Twill heighten all his joy :Twill make the widows heart to sing, Tho the tear were in her eye. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand ;And may his great posterity Neer fail in old Scotland! VERSES11 ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME WHICH A FELLOWHAD JUST SHOT. Inhuman man! curse on thy barbrous art, And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart! Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field !The bitter little that of life remains :No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest,No more of rest, but now thy dying bed!The sheltering rushes whistling oer thy head, The cold earth with thy bloody bosom 120 POEMS BY ROBERT BURNS. THE FAREWELL. The valiant in himself, what can he suffer?Or what does he regard his single woes ?But when, alas ! he multiplies himself,To dearer selves, to the lovd tender fair,To those whose bliss, whose beings hang upon him,To helpless children ! then, O then ! he feelsThe point of misery festring in his heart,And weakly weeps his fortune like a , such am I ! undone ! Thomsons Edward and Eleanora. Farewell, old Scotias bleak domains,Far dearer than the torrid plains Where rich ananas blow !Farewell, a mothers blessing dear !A brothers sigh ! a sisters tear! My Jeans heart-rending throe !Farewell, my Bess ! tho thourt bereft Of my parental care ;A faithful brother I have left,My part in him thoult share!Adieu too, to you too, My Smith, my bosom frien ;When kindly you mind me,Oh then befriend my Jean ! What bursting anguish tears my heartFrom thee, my Jeannie, must I part! Thou, weeping, answrest, No ! Alas ! misfortune stares my
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