SUBSCRIBERS to ye! J. T. B. Where'er ye flit, wherever ye flee -- And though ye'll na remember me In your braw lodgin, I trust ye'll ha'e the grace to see Friends wi'out dodgin. O gin I were in stage or boat, Wi' stuffed valise and dapper coat, How blithely wad I ride or float On land an' water; But here I am, na worth a groat-- 'T is nae great matter. I hope, dear sir, it winna vex ye To hear I borrow the Galaxy, Wherein ye rave at sic as tax ye Wi' a that loss -- But dinna let thae things perplex ye, And be na cross. I ken ye're crouse, and gi'e sma' glint At rhyme, when there's nae meaning in 't, And sae, my verse I weel may stint For a' you read on 't; And my puir muse begins to hint There's little need on 't. I only meant to let ye ken That I, like ither absent men, Have not been busy at my pen In Hartford City, But only scribbled now and then -- "The mair's the pity." I greet thee frae the banks and braes That saw me in my childish days, Where neither sylphs nor pranking fays Buttoned my jacket; The nearest I saw, in my strays, Was auld Till Becket, May you, by Tiber's favored burn, Or where Potomac sees the urn That patriot-poets stop and turn To make a verse on, Or 'mid the rigs o' Southern corn, Meet nae worse person. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NAPEOLON'S FAREWELL; FROM THE FRENCH by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE PESSIMIST by BENJAMIN FRANKLIN KING THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER by THOMAS MOORE POPULAR BALLAD: NEVER FORGET YOUR PARENTS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A SONG OF PROGRESS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |