CIII.

DELIA.

AN ODE.

[These verses were first printed in the Star newspaper, in May, 1789. It is said that one day a friend read to the poet some verses from the Star, composed on the pattern of Pope's song, by a Person of Quality. "These lines are beyond you," he added: "the muse of Kyle cannot match the muse of London." Burns mused a moment, then recited "Delia, an Ode."]

Fair the face of orient day, Fair the tints of op'ning rose, But fairer still my Delia dawns, More lovely far her beauty blows.

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay, Sweet the tinkling rill to hear; But, Delia, more delightful still Steal thine accents on mine ear.

The flow'r-enamoured busy bee The rosy banquet loves to sip; Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip;--

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips Let me, no vagrant insect, rove! O, let me steal one liquid kiss! For, oh! my soul is parch'd with love.

* * * * *