Joined: 20 Nov 2008
Location: Sacramento California
|Posted: Mon Jun 22, 2009 12:16 am Post subject: Happy Father's Day to all the Flaky Community
|To all that are fathers, unknowing fathers, and potential fathers... I hope you have had a wonderful Father's Day...
I certainly did...
To all Fathers and those who have fathers... (hopefully no products of virgin births) I gift you with a wee dram of Robert Burns... a hard living man who die at 38 and, I'm sure, sired many talented bastards along the way; a Goblin Prince at heart!
The poem carries no special sentiment... I just like the way it sounds
from Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns, Part XII – 1787
O Prince! O chief of many throned Pow`rs
That led th` embattl`d Seraphim to war-
O Thou! whatever title suit thee-
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Wha in yon cavern grim an` sootie,
Clos`d under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie,
To scaud poor wretches!
Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
An` let poor damned bodies be;
I`m sure sma` pleasure it can gie,
Ev`n to a deil,
To skelp an` scaud poor dogs like me,
An` hear us squeel!
Great is thy pow`r an` great thy fame;
Far ken`d an` noted is thy name;
An` tho` yon lowin` heuch`s thy hame,
Thou travels far;
An` faith! thou`s neither lag nor lame,
Nor blate, nor scaur.
Whiles, ranging like a roarin lion,
For prey, a` holes and corners tryin;
Whiles, on the strong-wind`d tempest flyin,
Tirlin the kirks;
Whiles, in the human bosom pryin,
Unseen thou lurks.
I`ve heard my rev`rend graunie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or where auld ruin`d castles grey
Nod to the moon,
Ye fright the nightly wand`rer`s way,
Wi` eldritch croon.
When twilight did my graunie summon,
To say her pray`rs, douse, honest woman!
Aft`yont the dyke she`s heard you bummin,
Wi` eerie drone;
Or, rustlin, thro` the boortrees comin,
Wi` heavy groan.
Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi` sklentin light,
Wi` you, mysel` I gat a fright,
Ayont the lough;
Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight,
Wi` wavin` sough.
The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each brist`ld hair stood like a stake,
When wi` an eldritch, stoor "quaick, quaick,"
Amang the springs,
Awa ye squatter`d like a drake,
On whistlin` wings.
Let warlocks grim, an` wither`d hags,
Tell how wi` you, on ragweed nags,
They skim the muirs an` dizzy crags,
Wi` wicked speed;
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,
Owre howkit dead.
Thence countra wives, wi` toil and pain,
May plunge an` plunge the kirn in vain;
For oh! the yellow treasure`s ta`en
By witchin` skill;
An` dawtit, twal-pint hawkie`s gane
As yell`s the bill.
Thence mystic knots mak great abuse
On young guidmen, fond, keen an` crouse,
When the best wark-lume i` the house,
By cantrip wit,
Is instant made no worth a louse,
Just at the bit.
When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
An` float the jinglin` icy boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord,
By your direction,
And `nighted trav`llers are allur`d
To their destruction.
And aft your moss-traversin Spunkies
Decoy the wight that late an` drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies
Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne`er mair to rise.
When masons` mystic word an` grip
In storms an` tempests raise you up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,
Or, strange to tell!
The youngest brither ye wad whip
Aff straught to hell.
Lang syne in Eden`s bonie yard,
When youthfu` lovers first were pair`d,
An` all the soul of love they shar`d,
The raptur`d hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flow`ry swaird,
In shady bower;^1
Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog!
Ye cam to Paradise incog,
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