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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