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Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair,
And with them take the poet's prayer;
That fate may in her fairest page,
With every kindliest, best presage,
Of future bliss, enrol thy name:
With native worth, and spotless fame,
And wakeful caution still aware
Of ill - but chief, man's felon snare;

All blameless joys on earth we find,
And all the treasures of the mind
These be thy guardian and reward;
So prays thy faithful friend, the bard.

Robert Burns

June 26th 1796