Analysis of From Lines to William Simson

1     Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain,
2     She's gotten poets o' her ain--
3     Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,
4             But tune their lays,
5     Till echoes a' resound again
6             Her weel-sung praise.

7     Nae poet thought her worth his while
8     To set her name in measur'd style:
9     She lay like some unken'd-of isle
10           Beside New Holland,
11   Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil
12           Besouth Magellan.

13   Ramsay and famous Fergusson
15   Yarrow and Tweed to mony a tune
16           Owre Scotland rings;
17   While Irvin, Lugar, Ayr an' Doon
18           Naebody sings.

19   Th' Ilissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine
20   Glide sweet in mony a tunefu' line;
21   But, Willie, set your fit to mine
22           And cock your crest,
23   We'll gar our streams and burnies shine
24           Up wi' the best!

25   We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' fells,
26   Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells,
27   Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells,
28           Where glorious Wallace
29   Aft bure the gree, as story tells,
30           Frae Southron billies.

31   At Wallace' name what Scottish blood
32   But boils up in a spring-tide flood!
33   Oft have our fearless fathers strode
34           By Wallace' side,
35   Still pressing onward red-wat-shod,
36           Or glorious dy'd.

37   O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods,.
38   When lintwhites chant amang the buds,
39   And jinkin hares in amorous whids
40           Their loves enjoy,
41   While thro' the braes the cushat croods
42           Wi' wailfu' cry!

43   Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me,
44   When winds rave thro' the naked tree;
45   Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree
46           Are hoary gray;
47   Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee,
48           Dark'ning the day!

49   O Nature! a' thy shews an' forms
50   To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms!
51   Whether the summer kindly warms
52           Wi' life an' light,
53   Or winter howls in gusty storms
54           The lang, dark night!

55   The Muse, nae poet ever fand her,
56   Till by himsel he learn'd to wander
57   Adoun some trottin burn's meander,
58           And no think lang;
59   O sweet to stray and pensive ponder
60           A heart-felt sang!

61   The warly race may drudge and drive,
62   Hog-shouther, jundie, stretch an' strive:
63   Let me fair nature's face descrive,
64           And I wi' pleasure
65   Shall let the busy, grumbling hive
66           Bum owre their treasure.