Robert Burns,
Aloway Kirk, or, Tam o' Shanter
(1822)
“ O'er a' the ills of life victorious! But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the power, its bloom is shed; Or, like the snow falls in the river, A moment white—then melts for ever; Or like the Borealis rays, That flit ere you can point the place: Or like the rainbow's lovely form, Evanishing anmid the storm Ne man can tether Time or Tide, The hour approache. Tam maun ride; That hour, o' night', black arch the keystane, That drear hour he mounts his beast in, And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. ”
