When I was but times stripling youth
I gave no thought to learning.
It seemed such things were lesser truth
than Shaitan’s mind in yearning.

But as the years passed swiftly by
I true began to wonder.
What wit had sought me to deny
Sad wirra! Of its plunder.

For man does learn in many ways
them ne’er of his true making.
The fault be in his sad forays
of battles and its girding.

‘Til seven score and more has past
and life it seems, less nervous.
Those youthful joys ne’er meant to last
or maudlin time of its own service.

For here’s to them that know it all
with wonders, they encompass.
There’s many steps before a fall
and man’s last dram o’ Deoch-an'-Doris.

Mor.