the humble petition of bruar water

to the noble duke of athole.

my lord, i know your noble ear

woe ne'er assails in vain;

embolden'd thus, i beg you'll hear

your humble slaveplain,

how saucy phoebus' scorching beams,

in flaming summer-pride,

dry-withering, waste my foamy streams,

and drink my crystal tide.

the lightly-jumping, glowrin' trouts,

that thro' my waters play,

if, in their random, wanton spouts,

they near the margin stray;

if, hapless chance! they linger lang,

i'm scorching up so shallow,

they're left the whitening stanes amang,

in gasping death to wallow.

last day i grat wi' spite and teen,

as poet burns came by.

that, to a bard, i should be seen

wi' half my channel dry;

a panegyric rhyme, i ween,

ev'n as i was, he shor'd me;

but had i in my glory been,

he, kneeling, wad ador'd me.

here, foaming down the skelvy rocks,

in twisting strength i rin;

there, high my boiling torrent smokes,

wild-roaring o'er a linn:

enjoying each large spring and well,

as nature gave them me,

i am, altho' i say't mysel',

worth gaun a mile to see.

would then my noble master please

to grant my highest wishes,

he'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees,

and bonie spreading bushes.

delighted doubly then, my lord,

you'll wander on my banks,

and listen mony a grateful bird

return you tuneful thanks.

the sober lav'rock, warbling wild,

shall to the skies aspire;

the gowdspink, music's gayest child,