Thursday, January 1, 2009

The Salutation

Unner this airn regiment
A sing the leeberty
Whaur ilkane seeks frae ither
Whit ilkane's hert wad gie
An ilkane wauks in's marrae
Whit but for't canna be,
Inringin wi't the flichterin
Speerit tae fecht an dree.

Sae lat us tuim oor herts,
No scrimpin till we'v socht
Thair last, laist nochtie trump,
For awthing's aureate nou,
The guids an gear we hae
A fouth o hert an thocht,
That, skailin efter ither,
Breirds ahint ilkane's brou.

For handsel, A wad gie ye
Some mair nor mortal grace
Sauf that, throu your translation,
Masel A micht translate,
Forgettin luve wis born
Here in a time an place,
Miscawin wi couthie wirds
This life proposed as fate.

Whither the saul its lane
This viage lang begoud,
Or willyart body's airtin
Haes trystit hert wi hert
Wha kens? This is the maist
That saul an body coud,
Tae mak's ilkane for ither
An o ae speerit pairt.

Edwin Muir (1887-1959)

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