Grown tired of mourning for my sins-
And brooding over merits-
The other night with bothered brow
I went amongst the spirits;
And I met one that I knew well:
-Oh, Scotty-s Ghost, is that you?
-And did you see the fearsome crowd
-At Robbie Burns-s statue?

-They hurried up in hansom cabs,
-Tall-hatted and frock-coated;
-They trained it in from all the towns,
-The weird and hairy-throated;
-They spoke in some outlandish tongue,
-They cut some comic capers,
-And ilka man was wild to get
-His name in all the papers.

-They showed no gleam of intellect,
-Those frauds who rushed before us;
-They knew one verse of -Auld Lang Syne-�
-The first one and the chorus:
-They clacked the clack o- Scotlan-s Bard,
-They glibly talked of -Rabby;�
-But what if he had come to them
-Without a groat and shabby?

-They drank and wept for Robbie-s sake,
-They stood and brayed like asses
-(The living bard-s a drunken rake,
-The dead one loved the lasses);
-If Robbie Burns were here, they-d sit
-As still as any mouse is;
-If Robbie Burns should come their way,
-They-d turn him out their houses.

-Oh, weep for bonny Scotland-s bard!
-And praise the Scottish nation,
-Who made him spy and let him die
-Heart-broken in privation:
-Exciseman, so that he might live
-Through northern winters- rigours-
-Just as in southern lands they give
-The hard-up rhymer figures.

-We need some songs of stinging fun
-To wake the States and light -em;
-I wish a man like Robert Burns
-Were here to-day to write -em!
-But still the mockery shall survive
-Till the Day o- Judgment crashes-
-The men we scorn when we-re alive
-With praise insult our ashes.-

And Scotty-s ghost said: -Never mind
-The fleas that you inherit;
-The living bard can flick them off-
-They cannot hurt his spirit.
-The crawlers round the bardie-s name
-Shall crawl through all the ages;
-His work-s the living thing, and they
-Are fly-dirt on the pages.-