Explore "Epistle to Major Logan" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie! / Tho' fortune's road be rough an' hilly / To every fiddling, rhyming billie, / We never heed, / But take it like the unback'd filly, / Proud o' her speed.
When, idly goavin', whiles we saunter, / Yirr! fancy barks, awa we canter, / Up hill, down brae, till some mischanter, / Some black bog-hole, / Arrests us; then the scathe an' banter / We're forced to thole.