PS 2675 
 /|.R6 07 
 I Copy 1 
 
 OoR Kirk Fair, 
 
 AND 
 
 Ither Verses of That Ilk, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. E. RANKIN. 
 
 WASHINGTON, D. C. 
 
 PILGRIM PRESS ASSOCIATION. 
 
 i88i. 
 
001^ KIRK FA^, 
 
 Ither Ybrsbs of That Ilk. 
 
 J, E. RANKIN 
 
 33 
 
 WASHINGTON, D. C. 
 
 PILGRIM PRESS ASSOCIATION. 
 18S1. 
 
 Q>. 
 
TS uUys- 
 .7^ Oy 
 
 THESE SCOTCH VERSES 
 MOSTLY FROM 
 
 TIJ£ PILGRIM PRESS, 
 
 ARE 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 MY ONLY BROTHER, 
 
 ANDREW EVARTS RANKIN, 
 
 OF 
 ST. JOHNSBURY, VT. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Oor Kirk Fair I 
 
 Aboon the Stars lo 
 
 We Ha'e Nae Bairns ; ii 
 
 I Wad that We Were Bairns Agen 13 
 
 Mither Taught • .15 
 
 Dinna Come Courtin' 17 
 
 Sobbin' for Robbin 18 
 
 Guidman Awa' 20 
 
 To A Mitherless Wean 22 
 
 To A Caged Lav'rock 24 
 
 Simmer Weather 26 
 
 The Missin' Bairnies 27 
 
 Quaker Kirk 29 
 
 The First Tooth 31 
 
 The Douce, Douce Guidfolk 32 
 
OOR KIRK FAIR. 
 
 It was twa years agone, or little mair, 
 At gloamin' sat I, in my wicker chair : 
 For, I, that day, had muckle business done, 
 Syne in the East had rose October's sun : 
 My laddie'd just put up the shutter aims ; 
 'Tis toys I keep, and sweeties for the bairns : 
 Complacent was I, in my widow's cap. 
 Dozing a-wee, hands folded in my lap : 
 Thinking hoo God had blest me in my lad. 
 While ither chiels were aft sae loose and bad ; 
 When who sud sudden glow'r within the door, 
 Gie'ing a hasty glance aroun' the store. 
 But, Dr. Fergus Ferguson, who stands 
 Ilk week before us, in his gown, and bands ! 
 It made my heart within, go pit-a-pat ; 
 For, Janet Dunbar was na used to that : 
 An' mony troublit thoughts began to thrang, 
 O' things neglectit, an' things done wrang ! — 
 'Tis strange, what thoughts begin to stir abroad, 
 At sight of him they ca' the man of God ! 
 But, saft his step, his tone, hoo delicate ! 
 Hoo daintily he teuk the chair I sate ! 
 I never saw a minister sae near. 
 An' sae I viewed him with a holy fear. 
 He spak' o' Willie, an' his manly ways : 
 Willie's my bairn, and I could stan' his praise ; 
 
OOR KIRK FAIR. 
 
 Right skillful he, to use the hinnied phrase ! 
 An', then, he talked o' folk in forrin' parts, 
 O' their outlandish gods, and pagan arts : 
 To save these nakit horrid multitudes, 
 Hoo we sud consecrate oor warly goods : 
 Hoo sic a kirk, and sic anither too, 
 He tauld hoo much they had agreed to do. 
 An' then, he sighed, as though 'twas on his mind, 
 The kirks 'foresaid, sud leave oor kirk behind : 
 An' then, he wished, wi' sic an anxious air. 
 That oor kirk, too, wad hauld a halie Fair : 
 ^He leuked aroun' my store, and praised ilk art, 
 Whilk I had plied to tempt the bairnie's heart ; 
 And, then, when he had weel prepared the way. 
 He fu' unfauldit, what he had to say : 
 An' sud oor kirk conclude to hauld a Fair, 
 O' needful burdens, wad I tak' my share ; 
 Wad I contribute, were it less or more, 
 Su' things to help, frae oot my thriftie store ! 
 " Of course !" I said : what could a bodie say, 
 The thing proposed in sic an artfu' way ? 
 I've aften thought, in plyin' winnin' words. 
 There's none to beat oor spir'tual under-herds : 
 And, sae, a wheen o' goodies and o' toys, 
 Of dolls for girls, and bats and balls for boys. 
 Before I slept, that night, I'd set aside. 
 Right well -con tentit i' my carnal pride. 
 Altho' I did na count to hear my name 
 Within the donor-list, when Sunday came. 
 Oor pastor thinks, 'twere weel the right han' knew. 
 What goodly deeds, the left han' means to do : 
 As though, they'd sort o' emulate ilk ither : 
 
00 R KIRK FAIR. 
 
 An sae the stronger, help his weaker brither : 
 He seems to hold, ahead o' singing psalms, 
 The art of gettin' a' the gifts, an' alms ; 
 An' aft, for fear he sud na male' it go. 
 He seems to me, to strain a point or so ; 
 But, then, indeed, I'm not supposed to know. 
 
 Ah ! weel, th' expectit day, at length, came roun', 
 My lad and I betimes were on the groun': 
 For strange enough, my Willie seemed to care, 
 Weel-buskit first, to be the earliest there : 
 My Willie, whom I leuked on, as a wean, 
 Although, in fact?, he had just turned nineteen. 
 
 Sic lassies ! deck'd sae sweetly, an' sae fair ! 
 Wi' roundit necks, an' arms a' plump an' bare ! 
 With een, sae like the lowin' starn o' night ! 
 Auld as I was, I ne'er had seen sic sight. 
 My lad, he was half crazy with delight. 
 An' quick I saw, what I was loth to see. 
 The wily creature that had caught his e'e. 
 My laddie ! ah, the truth I'd never dreamed. 
 He tremblit, when she kindly on him beamed : 
 I then remembered, aince I'd seen at kirk, 
 At her he'd glint, behind her he wad lurk. 
 An' she was beautiful ! You've seen a rose. 
 Mingling its pink and white, before it blows : 
 'Twas just like that, upon her cheek and brow ; 
 Ye cud na help admirin' ony how. 
 Yes, she was beautiful ! An' when she brought 
 A sweet bouquet, and, then, as quick as thought, 
 Just pinned it to the lappel of his coat. 
 There was na utt' ranee in his chokin' throat : 
 At first, his face gleamed like a lily, white ; 
 
OOR KIRK FAIR. 
 
 An' then, it crimson flushed, sae fiery bright : 
 
 My laddie's secret, then, too well I knew ; 
 
 And like a sword, it pierced my auld heart through. 
 
 God kens hoo much it costs a mither, when 
 Her lad maun ha'e a lass, like ither men : 
 To feel anither orb maun rule his life, 
 God kens a mither's grief, an' inward strife ! 
 And, sud she prove to be unworthy him ! 
 Some passing fancy, or some idle whim ! 
 Some syren luring on his honest barque, / 
 To waters fickle, treacherous and dark ! 
 God kens hoo much, a tender mither fears 
 A lassie may not be a' she appears ; 
 May ply on him her charms, artfu' and coy. 
 An' prove, instead of gude wife, but a toy ! 
 
 But, to return : Those lily hands, that tempting face, 
 The tone, the figure, and the nameless grace ; 
 Hoo could a lad like him, resist sic charm ? 
 I felt the tremor, as I held his arm. 
 The deed was done ! And, then I heard her say, 
 " Anely a half-crown for the sweet bouquet !" 
 A half-crown ! Yes. It made my laddie start. 
 But, she had pinned it next his beating heart : 
 He gave the sum ; for she had made him mad ; 
 Although 'twas a' the honest laddie had ! 
 I watched her practising the winnin' game 
 On ither laddies, as they went and came : 
 The same sweet look : the same saft, thrillin' word, 
 Which just before, my eager lad had heard, 
 " A half a crown, if pinned aboon your heart !" 
 Fast went the flowers, sold by woman's art. 
 
 An e'enen passes quickly at a Fair, 
 
00 R KIRK FAIR. 
 
 Altho' my heart beat heavy, sad and sair ; 
 
 I saw the rafflin' gangin' on aroun' ; 
 
 I heard the auctions, with their deaf ning soun'; 
 
 The giddy laughter, and the merry calls 
 
 Frae out the cabins, tents, and booths, and stalls : 
 
 And, aince, I caught a glimpse o' lads and girls, 
 
 Dissolvin' in the dance's mazy whirls ; 
 
 Although they all denied it stout and flat. 
 
 That in God's House, they'd do the like o' that ! 
 
 I know, at this, our pious Pastor grieves ; 
 
 Althougli he sheds his tears — within his sleeves ! 
 
 He thinks it weel to play a wily card. 
 
 An na' on warly sports to press ow'er hard. 
 
 He lo'es the heathen, in those forrin' parts, 
 
 For their salvation, plies a' pious arts. 
 
 One time, I thought, if Biinyan had been there, 
 Or Robbie Burns, to note our halie Fair ; 
 Hoo it wad read, if it were written out, 
 All that these Christian lasses were about : 
 Their smirkin', smilin', an' coquettish pleas, 
 Their artfu' vvays, their banterin', an' lees ; 
 Hoo much of this, 'twad tak' to mak' a saint ! 
 If 'twere as good as Indian dance and paint ! 
 Hoo far, the Lord wad mak' the money go. 
 They gave to Him, whilk had been gotten so ! 
 Hoo they wad seem, these ill-got gains and fees, 
 When a' tired oot, at last, they bent their knees ; 
 Hoo it wad leuk, a' they had said and done, 
 AVhen calmly viewed, beneath to-morrow's sun ; 
 Alas ! poor souls ! what wad they have to say. 
 If there sud be sic thing, as Judgment Day I 
 
 At last, the wee-bit hours o' mornin' came, 
 
OOR KIRK FAIR. 
 
 When we maun guide our footsteps to our hame ; 
 
 They turned, at length, the flaming gashght down ; 
 
 An' hushed within the kirk, ilk warly soun': 
 
 It seemed to me — sae loud the clock struck one — 
 
 Some ither dispensation had begun : 
 
 As though we walked some dimly-lighted tomb ; 
 
 As though confrontin' baith, the Day o' Doom. 
 
 • My laddie had a strange and restless night ; 
 
 I saw, his een were kindlit wi' new light ; 
 
 An' when, at breakfast hour, we teuk our meal. 
 
 His topmost thought, he could but ill conceal : 
 
 To talk o' that fair lass, was he fu' fain : 
 
 Hoo he wad like to ca' the girl his ain ; 
 
 To take the big store, on the City square. 
 
 An', then, we three could stock a large bazaar: 
 
 Wond'ring the while, wad she complacent prove, 
 
 A gi'e him honest back, his honest love. 
 
 I saw the laddie's heart beat unco high, 
 
 Misgivin's, though untauld, alas ! had I. 
 
 Ere mony days, agen, the Sunday came, 
 I saw upon his cheeks, a hectic flame ; 
 An' when accoutered in his Sunday's best, 
 I saw the same bouquet pinned on his breast. 
 Wi' thankfu' hearts, we breathed the mornin' air, 
 An' arm in arm,* walked to the house of prayer. 
 We saw the lass, among a hauf a score ; 
 The lad stepped up to greet her, at the door. 
 She did na min' him, hoo he raised his hat : 
 His leuk and bow superb, an' a' o' that : 
 She simply curled her lip, an' passed him by. 
 As though some bird, just lighted frae the sky ; 
 As though she feared to soil her plumage fair ; 
 
OOR KIRK FAIR. 7 
 
 As though too proud, to breathe earth's common air ; 
 As though she thought hersel' too bright an' good, 
 To herd with ane, who earned his daily food : 
 An' ev'ry vestige of her former grace 
 Forsook her frigid, proud, forbidding face. 
 
 I saw the iron strike my Willie then : 
 Nor syne that day has he e'er smiled agen. 
 You've seen a snow-white lily droop and fail 
 In spite o' a' ye did to cure its ail ; 
 In spite of sunshine and the gentle rain, 
 Woundit within, as though it felt some pain ; 
 Just so, my laddie, frae that self-same day, 
 Began to wilt and droop an' slip away. 
 An' though I'd never known him aince to shirk, 
 He'd tell me aft, he did na feel like work. 
 Wad sit at gloamin', sad and mope. 
 As though he'd lost his anely earthly hope. 
 Hoo mony a far-fetch'd thing I've gladly bought. 
 To please his fancy or his passing thought ; 
 T'was like a plaything to a home-sick child : 
 He wad na o' his grief be thus beguiled. 
 Ah ! vain my hope, my pray'r to keep him still. 
 An' vain my nursin', vain the doctor's skill : 
 Ere spring, I saw by mony a certain sign. 
 He had his death ; was sinkin' in decline. 
 I'd heard it aften sung : I thought it true : 
 Each blade o' grass maun ha'e its drap of dew. 
 But, ah ! I saw the fever drinkin up 
 My drap frae oot life's wearie, wearie cup. 
 
 The care of him, I had ilk day to take. 
 Did on my tiny store, sic inroads make : 
 The doctor's drugs, the doctor's drainin' fees. 
 
OOR KIRK FAIR. 
 
 Did waste it sae^ by slow, but sure degrees, 
 It was fu' hard to mak' the twa ends meet, 
 To buy the coke, and get us aught to eat. 
 I thought, in my great straits, I'd try the arts 
 The kirk had tried for those in foreign parts : 
 I'd raffle off an article or so, 
 A carriage spread, a fancy doll, you know ; 
 Just in my winnock, in a quiet way : — 
 But, they had been there, scarce a single day, 
 Before policemen, buttoned sleek and round. 
 Stalked in, and did my tremblin' heart astound, 
 Wi' swelling words, that I the law did break ; 
 The goods were forfeit ; them they'd have to take 
 Mysel', unless I ceased this thing to do, 
 They'd budge me off to grace the station too. 
 I tried to tell them, I was a' alone. 
 My Willie deein', they could hear .his moan : 
 They shook their heids, as though sae unco wise, 
 Wad hear excuses nane, and nae replies. 
 Bade me, wad I escape the Judge's claw, 
 Walk circumspec', and never break the law : 
 Advice weel-meant, and guid for me, na doubt, 
 But guid as weel for them, to carry out ; 
 For, still the thing did in my noddle lurk. 
 They must hae known the rafflin' at our kirk ; 
 But, then, the place maun sanctify the deed ; 
 The law's not broken, if intact the creed ; 
 The naked Indians in those foreign parts, 
 They sanctify unhalie deeds and arts ; 
 The truth, I may not be supposed to know ; 
 Doubtless, our Doctor, he must think it so. 
 Ah weel ! in twa days mair, my laddie died ; 
 
OOR KIRK FAIR. 
 
 An' sae my struggle went, how to provide. 
 Beneath his pillow, after he was gaun, 
 I found the flow'r, whilk he had doated on : 
 The withered parcel, and a brief, brief line ; 
 Sae dim, the writin'I could scarce divine. 
 It meant, wi' that, he did na want to part ; 
 " Please lay it, mither, on my broken heart !" 
 
ABO ON THE STARS. 
 
 ABOON THE STARS. 
 
 O snawie feet, sae veined wi' blue, 
 
 ankles limp an' roun', 
 
 Wi' greeting' een, I've sought for you. 
 All up" the warl an' doun. 
 
 Aboon the stars ? I ken, I ken. 
 
 What service do they there ? 
 Does Heav'n itsel' need little men, ' 
 
 To make its mansions fair? 
 
 Do little feet rin in an' oot ? 
 
 Is bairnheid laughter heard ? 
 Ah ! that's the Heav'n rae to suit, 
 
 1 catch the sweet, sweet word. 
 
 An' sal I meet my bairn aboon? 
 
 My bonnie, wee, wee bairn ? 
 Hoo aft, at night, I sit an' croon, 
 
 Sae piercin' is the airn ! 
 
 An' mithers may be mithers there. 
 An' bairns still bairns may be, 
 
 Wi' glowin' cheek, an' flowin' hair. 
 An' childhood ecstacy ? 
 
 At least, until I better ken, 
 
 I'll dream the pleasant thought ; 
 
 Nor think our bairns grow up to men. 
 An' sae, alas, are not ! 
 
WE HA'E NAE BAIRNS. 
 
 WE HA'E NAE BAIRNS. 
 
 We ha'e nae bairns, our hame within, 
 Wi' ootspread arms to meet us ; 
 
 To fill the door wi' fun and din, 
 As they rush forth to greet us. 
 
 We ha'e nae cherry mou's to feed ; 
 
 We buy nae toys to please them ; 
 Nae boots, nae dolls, nae skates we need ;- 
 
 Nae eager wee-things seize them. 
 
 We ha'e nae sturdy stock to raise 
 O' men, O' wives, beginning ! 
 
 To teach them warldly arts and ways, 
 Of bread and butter winning. 
 
 We ha'e nae tempted ones to guide 
 
 The path that leads to glory ; 
 To tell them of the Crucified : 
 
 The pith o' Bible story. 
 
 We ha'e nae bairns, when we are dead 
 To shed lo'e's tears aboun' us, 
 
 To smooth for us the lanely bed, 
 And sprinkle flowers aroun' us. 
 
 We ha'e nae bairns, to keep our name, 
 When we are gane, frae dying ; 
 
 To build agen anither hame. 
 The stock still multiplying. 
 
12 
 
 WE HA'E NAE BAIRNS. 
 
 A barren pair, we look around, 
 Not mither and not father ; 
 
 Like water spilled upon the ground, 
 Whilk nae man's art can gather. 
 
/ WAD THAT IVE WERE BAIRNS AGEN. 
 
 I WAD THAT WE WERE BAIRNS A GEN. 
 
 I wad that we were bairns agen, 
 
 Our life a' simmer weather ; 
 The air as fu' of sangs as then, 
 
 An' birds o' shin in' feather. 
 I wad we had those daft days back ; 
 
 Their spring, their light, their rapture ! 
 I wad we had that auld time knack 
 
 Ilk passin' bliss to capture. 
 
 A bow hung spannin' ilka cloud. 
 
 However dark an' frownin' ; 
 At sight of it we laughed aloud, 
 
 Our petty troubles drownin'. 
 We then could wade in tiny brooks, 
 
 That murmured through the meadows : 
 And ferret out the hidden nooks 
 
 Amang the leafy shadows. 
 
 We had our bairnheid's gentle mates, 
 
 Alas ! in dust they moulder ! 
 The lad who strapped for us our skates. 
 
 Who bore us on his shoulder ; 
 The bright -e'ed lassies that we kenned, 
 
 Like them to us nae ither ! 
 So peacefu' did our pastimes blend, 
 
 As streams that rin thegither. 
 
 13 
 
14 / I'VAjD that we were bairns AG en. 
 
 Ah ! what can make us bairns agen, 
 
 Before us, life's December — 
 But just these auld time maids and men. 
 
 Whom we thus aft remember ? 
 But just to fill those scenes once mair 
 
 With childhood sang and laughter? 
 Alhough the truth they're nae mair there 
 
 Will mak' us sadder after. 
 
MI THE R TAUGHT. 
 
 MIT HER TAUGHT. 
 
 At mither's knee I waitin' stood, 
 
 Wi' fingers link'd behin' me, 
 The bauldest o' the bairnheid brood : — 
 
 That hour they seldom tined me ; 
 My mither's weel-arch'd bree aboon, 
 
 Wi' lo'e-lit e'e a droopin' : — 
 The deid, the gaun, they gather roun', 
 
 In memory's halie groupin' ! 
 
 Her han' she placed upon my heid ; 
 
 Hoo aften I've caressed it ! 
 An' syne it moulder'd wi' the deid, 
 
 Hoo aft wi' tears ha'e blessed it ! 
 Hoo sweet she tauld us o' Christ's lo'e, 
 
 Hoo He lay in the manger : 
 Hoo, then, she leuked our hale life thro'. 
 
 An' mapped out ilka danger. 
 
 A roguish, rompin' bairn was I, 
 
 Wi' een deep-set, blue-blinkin'. 
 Who speir'd o' things baith laigh and high, 
 
 An' had a way o' thinkin' : 
 Her leuk o' lo'e could mak' the tears, 
 
 Adoon my cheek fast trickle : — 
 But, ah, nae bairn lang face lang wears. 
 
 He has o' joys sic mickle. 
 
 15 
 
1 6 MITHER TAUGHT. 
 
 She never thought her wark was gran'. 
 
 Nor bruited it, nor tauld it : 
 But, kept at it, wi' silent han'. 
 
 Our bairnheid life to mould it ; 
 Content'it wi' the halie sphere, 
 
 Ower whilk she stretch'd lo'e's sceptre ; 
 The harvest o' life's comin' year, 
 
 Hopefu' through a', this kept her. 
 
 For, like the sources o' the burn, 
 
 Frae rocks an' trees doon-drappin', 
 Those deft-hid things that first we learn. 
 
 Still oot they maun be crappin' ; 
 I've lang forgot the beuks I read, 
 
 The wise things taught i' college : 
 But, time '11 na dri'e frae. oot my head 
 
 That ither bairnheid knowledge ! 
 
DINNA COME C OUR TIN' TILL ME. 
 
 DINNA COME C OUR TIN' TILL ME. 
 
 Dinna come courtin' till me, young man, 
 Dinna come courtin' till me ! 
 Ye're a rake I can see, wi' the hauf o' an' 'ee. 
 
 An' ye lo'e Scotch drink, an' the barley bree ; 
 Sae dinna come courtin' till me, young man, 
 
 Dinna come courtm' till me. 
 
 Dinna come courtin' till me, young man, 
 
 Dinna come courtin' till me ! 
 Tho' ye're supple an' ta', an' briskit sae braw, 
 
 An' can loup an' prance in the harvest dance ; 
 Ye needna come courtin' till me, young man, 
 
 Ye needna come courtin' till me ! 
 
 Ah ! then, come courtin' till me, young man. 
 
 Ah, then, come courtin' till me ; 
 Wi' drink, if ye're dune, by a' that's aboon ; 
 
 I'll gi'e )^e my han', as a prince o' the Ian', 
 An' let ye come courtin' till me, young man, 
 
 An' let ye come courtin' till me. 
 
 1-7 
 
i8 
 
 SOB BIN' FOR ROB BIN. 
 
 SOBBIJSr FOR ROB BIN, 
 
 Guidman. What for are ye sobbin', 
 My dear, my dear ? 
 
 Guidwife. I'm sobbin' for Robbin, 
 
 For Robbin I'm sobbin' 
 
 An' sheddin' ilk tear. 
 
 Guidman. Auld Robbin, his heidie- 
 Do stap, do stap ! 
 
 An' fit were unsteady ; 
 
 Fu' aft was he ready 
 To stacher an' drap. 
 
 Guidwife. Auld Robbin, he carried 
 Us twa on his back, 
 That day we were married 
 Nor halted nor tarried, 
 Nor needed a crack. 
 
 Auld Robbin, he's nibblet 
 Frae ilk o' the weans, 
 
 An' on their heids dritblet 
 His aits an' his beans ! — 
 Guidman. He's auld an' enfeeblet. 
 
 An' that's what it means. 
 
SOB BIN' FOR ROB BIN. 19 
 
 We'll ha'e a new Robbin, 
 
 My dear, my dear I 
 Sae awa' wi' your sobbin', 
 
 An' staunch ilka tear : 
 Awa' wi' your sobbin' 
 For Robbin : 
 
 The new ane is here ! 
 
GUIDMAN AWA'. 
 
 GUIDMAN AWA\ 
 
 The sternies blink, when e'enin' fa's. 
 
 An' at the break o' day ; 
 Amid wild woods, the ring-doo ca's ; 
 
 The brown thrush pours his lay ; 
 Nature an' I can na agree. 
 Syne my ane guidman's gone frae me. 
 
 At gloamin' time, I gang an' sit 
 My lane, without the door : 
 
 wad, aince mair, his manly fit 
 Might echo on the floor ! 
 
 At night, wee things asleep, I wake, 
 An' sair's my heart, wi' mony an ache. 
 
 1 hear the soun' o' distant hoof: 
 
 Some guidman gangin' hame : 
 But ah ! he hauds his way aloof, 
 
 To glad some ither dame ! 
 An' sae, heart-sick, I lay my head 
 Again upon my sleepless bed. 
 
 I think, I think mischances o'er, 
 
 Whilk ither men befa' ; 
 Perhaps, I'll never greet him more. 
 
 He'll never come at a' ! 
 An' then I toss, an' grieve an' fret. 
 Until my lanely pillow's wet. 
 
GUJDMAN Al^VA'. 
 
 At last, at last, the sunlight glints 
 
 The taps o' yonder trees : 
 The curling smoke, plays wi', an' tints, 
 
 Then lights the beaded leas : — . 
 Nae sunlight is for me at a'. 
 Syne my ane guidman's gone awa'. 
 
 The bairnies come, betimes, at morn. 
 An' speir, "Is daddie. come ?" 
 
 The very dog gangs roun' forlorn, 
 Or sleeps morose an' glum : 
 
 An' when, at length, he hears a soun'. 
 
 He rins wi' nose alang the groun'. 
 
 But, hush ! I hear, I hear a bark ! 
 
 It echoes far an' near : 
 My guidman comes ! His voice, O, hark ! 
 
 His step, his step ! He's here ! 
 Awa', awa', my ilka pain. 
 He's come ! an' I'm heart-whole again ! 
 
TO A MITHERLESS WEAN. 
 
 TO A MITHERLESS WEAN. 
 
 Frae thy deid mither's dust, thou'st glinted. 
 Thou wee bit, frail an' tender creature. 
 In wham thy daddie spies ilk feature, 
 
 Thy mither's ain, agen soft hinted ; 
 
 Her bree, her een, ilk girlhood dimple, 
 Her bonnie mou' sae sweet, sae simple. 
 
 Thou'st stayed sae lang without life's portal, 
 Doubtfu' thysel' whether to enter, 
 That when, at last, thou cam'st to venture. 
 
 Thou gav'st her life, woun' deep an' mortal : 
 An' there ayont wean's prattlin' warble. 
 She lies outstretched in death's cauld marble. 
 
 As dull as stane, the e'e luve-glintin'. 
 
 As cauld as snaw, the kindly breastie 
 That sud ha'e been thy ain warm nestie ; 
 
 The lips close set, lo'e had been mintin' ; 
 Death bauds her form i' cruel capture ; 
 An' wreck'd thy daddie's ill-timed rapture ! 
 
 Thou didst nae mean it, frightenit weanie, 
 But, ah ! sae hard for life thou wrestlit 
 Thou'st tined the ane, thee sud ha'e nestlit ; 
 
 Thou's robb'd me o' my bonnie Jeanie ; 
 
 Thou'st robb'd thyiel' an' me thegither ; 
 For wae's the weanie without mither ! 
 
TO A MITHERLESS WEAN. 
 
 I've seen, like thee, some ill-starr'd lammie, 
 
 A' comfortless, for shelter bleatin' ; 
 
 Backward and forth, the cauld earth beatin', 
 In search o' its puir deid-stretch'd dammie ; 
 
 But ah ! her lug was dull o' hearin', 
 
 An' fruitless a' its grief an' speirin'. 
 
 This warl's a cauld, cauld warl thou'lt find it, 
 For fragile fiowerf and weans to glint here ; 
 It's fu' of snaws as ony winter ; 
 
 An' to the helpless, unco blindit ; 
 
 But a' the mair, thy wa-gaen daddie 
 Will wrap thee snug within his plaidie. 
 
 By thee o' his deid Jean remindit, 
 
 Delightit with thy nature's buddin'. 
 Thy bonnie bree wi' tears aft floodin', 
 
 The way she teuk to Gude, he'll find it. 
 
 There's nae mair death, nor dule, nor sin there , 
 An' by Gude's grace, we twa will win there. 
 
 23 
 
24 TO A CAGED LAVROCK SINGING. 
 
 TO A CAGED LAVROCK SINGING. 
 
 Wha teuk thee frae thy native meadows, 
 
 A' daisy-e'ed, dapplit wi' shadows, 
 
 Where thou hadst bigg'd thy snug-bit nestie, 
 Frae whilk thou sprangs't, gowd on thy breastie. 
 
 The dew-wet air o' mornin' skiltin'. 
 
 Thy matin hymn, warblin' an' hltin' ? 
 
 Wha robb'd the fields o' thy blythe presence, 
 Wha robb'd plain folk and bairns o' peasants, 
 
 That romp'd an' play'd, the wild flowers pluckin', 
 Fright'nin' the bees, red claver suckin', 
 A han' -strung garland, crown'd with daisies, 
 Linkin', at will, thro' bairnheid's mazes? 
 
 Wha teuk thee to the clouds high-mount' n', 
 
 Wellin' thy warbles frae sang's fountain, 
 Gladd'nin', in thy ascent, ilk acre. 
 To reach, ablins, ear o' thy Maker ? 
 
 Or when, at last, thy hymnal utter'd, 
 
 Thoud'st back unto thy fledglin's fluttered ? 
 
 Wha bauds thee i' this alley blightit, 
 Whilk, at high noon, is still benightit. 
 
 Where sombre shades, winnocks bedizzen. 
 
 An' uncag'd folk still live i' prison ; 
 Wha, when frae thy sweet fields he'd won thee. 
 Just shut this cruel gate upon thee ? 
 
TO A CAGED LAVROCK SINGING. 
 
 Thou singest o' thy robbit nestie ; 
 
 Thy wedow'd mate, that lang syne blest thee ; 
 The brood o' nestlins ye were rearin', 
 The cruel chiel, thy lo'e-dreams scarin', 
 
 An' human tongue thou seem'st to borrow. 
 
 An' tell'st the tale o' human sorrow. 
 
 Then lilt nae mair, I canna bear it, 
 Thou'lt break my heart, or oot wilt tear it ; 
 Thy sang is like some weanie greetin', 
 Hamesick, its bairnheid haunts entreatin'; 
 Then lilt nae mair, for thy green meadows, 
 Wi' daisy een, dapplit wi' shadows ! 
 
 Had I the power, I'd send thee wingin' 
 The fields o' blue, Gude's praises singin'! 
 Nae han' o' man sud mar thy rapture. 
 Nor frae thy native haunts sud capture ; 
 Nae han' o' man sud mar the measure 
 Wi' whilk thoud'st tell to God thy pleasure ! 
 
 25 
 
26 SIMMER WEATHER. 
 
 SIMMER WEATHER. 
 
 Ilk sweet neuk, my Jeanie knows ; 
 Where the baumj heather blows. 
 Where the tinklin' bumie flows, 
 
 In the simmer weather ; 
 There, at gloamin'^ hour we meet^ 
 There, we guide reluctant feet. 
 
 When we link thegither. 
 
 Like the hummin' O''^ the bee. 
 Like the murm'rin' o' the sea. 
 Are her words o' lo'e to me. 
 
 When we are thegither. 
 Mirk may thicken roun' about. 
 Still her lo'e can keep it out, 
 
 She's a' simmer weather ! 
 
 Sud I tine my Jeanie dear, 
 
 A' the warl' wad be maist drear^ 
 
 Like the autumn cauld an' sere,. 
 
 For the simmer weather ; 
 Gladly wad I then efface 
 Trysting hour an' trysting place,. 
 
 When we link'd thegither. 
 
THE M/SSIN' BAIRNIES. 
 
 THE MISSIN' BAIRNIES, 
 
 Where are ye, missin' bairnies, 
 
 A toddlin' in an' out, 
 Chuck fu' o' bairnheid mischief, 
 
 Chuck fu' o' din an' shout ? 
 1 miss ye, ilka nightfa' ; 
 
 Ilk gowden blink o' day ; 
 I aften stap an' wonder 
 
 Where ye are gaun away. 
 
 I aften stap an' wonder, 
 
 If ye are still at school ; 
 If ye will come, wi' stamp, stamp. 
 
 An' brak' my ilka rule ; 
 I aften stap an' wonder 
 
 If ye 're gaun aff to play ; 
 In fav'rite woodlan' pastime, 
 
 To while the livelang day. 
 
 I think ye're at the neighbors' 
 
 Perhaps ye're gaun for fruit ; 
 Perhaps ye tramp the meadows, 
 
 Or hide some bairnheid loot ; 
 An' sae I sit a-waitin', 
 
 An' let the table stan' ; 
 But nae mair comes ilk woman 
 
 Or comes ilk little man. 
 
 Hoo aft ye brought your chestnuts, 
 An' spread them oot to dry ; 
 
 27 
 
^ THE. MISSINr BAIRNIES. 
 
 Hoo aft ye thought your minnows 
 Were big enough to fry ; 
 
 Hoo aft I've wrung your stockin's. 
 Your little boots arrayed. 
 
 An' ye've gaun affere bedtime, 
 Ye had so madly played. 
 
 O little feet, aft wearie, 
 
 Where do ye wander now? 
 Wha kames the tangled ringlets ? 
 
 Wha cools the heated brow? 
 O little •han's,sae busy ! 
 
 O little hearts aft sore [ 
 Fm longiri' for the footfa's, 
 
 That echoed roun' the door ! 
 
 Alas ! I've grown forgetfu' ; 
 
 Some lie in little graves; 
 Some bear the brunt of manhood ; 
 
 An' some are fortune's slaves. 
 Sma' use for me to wonder 
 
 Oot door, or winnock stare ; 
 To greet me, as in bairnheid, 
 
 They'll come, ah ! nevermair.. 
 
 An' is" their nae mair bairnheid, 
 
 Whilk mak's this warl' sae fair? 
 Ayont the glowin' sternies, 
 
 Time's bairnies gather there ; ■ - 
 Ayont the glowin' sternies, 
 
 Ayont the lift o' blue ; 
 I'll fin' my missin' bairnies, 
 
 if they are guid an' true. 
 
QUAKER KIRK. zg 
 
 QUAKER KIRK. 
 
 Through the fields' a breathin' clover, 
 Down the burn a-jumpin' over, 
 Up the hill, alang the plain, 
 By the host o' breathless grain, 
 Free frae care, an' free frae wark : — 
 That's the gate co Quaker Kirk. 
 
 On the right han', daft an' crazy, 
 Swings the bob' link on the daisy ; 
 On the left han', hear the gush 
 O' the deftly hidden thrush ; 
 I'^tlie barnie, see the trout 
 Like the sun's glint in an' out. 
 
 Blue, deep-blue, as some kind eye 
 
 Bends aboon the archin' sky; J 
 
 An' the gran' old neebor wood 
 Stan's a leafy multitude ; 
 Here an' there, the sunshine smiles. 
 Smiles o' gowd, athwart its aisles. 
 
 There, at last, tefore you.stan's 
 Quaker Kiik i' green wood lan's ; 
 Open winnocks, open doors ; 
 In an' oot, the sweet breath pours 
 Frae the clovers' purple heids ; 
 Frae the wild flow'rs i' the meads. 
 
3© QUAKER KIRK. 
 
 Meek, loofs braidit, i' calm mood,. 
 
 Wait the silent britherhood : 
 
 Till an auld-mou'd man, snaw-white. 
 
 Tall but bent, an' saintly quite. 
 
 Rises slowly to enfauld 
 
 What the Voice Within has tauld. 
 
 Down he sits : a minute's hush, 
 
 Then a kindly social gush : 
 
 Han's are shaken, mou's are kissed,, 
 
 Kind words said anent the missed. 
 
 Gane the wagons, a fu' laden 
 
 Wi' calm matron, an' fair maiden ! 
 
 Back, my lane, through fields I wander. 
 On the breathless warl' I ponder : 
 To the dew wet woods return. 
 Hear the wimplin' o' the burn, 
 Breathe the peace that's a' abroad 
 On this hallowed day o' God. 
 
THE FIRST TOOTH. 3J 
 
 THE FIRST TOOTH. 
 
 Open, rogue, your pursed-up mou', 
 There's ane straggler strugglin' through : 
 First of a' the snaw-white ban', 
 That are crowdin' close at han'. 
 
 White as white o' pearl can be. 
 Or the white edge o' the sea ! 
 Dinna, bairnie, dare to bite, 
 Why ! you gave me sic a fright ! 
 
 That your diet 's raaistly milk, 
 That ye kenna whilk is whilk. 
 Eat na fruit, nor hinney-kame. 
 Ah ! ye ha'e yoursel' to blame. 
 
 When your sharp incisors come ; 
 Crowded fu' ilk toothless gum ; 
 Grapes and cherries ye sal eat ; 
 Bread snaw-white, an' juicy meat. 
 
 Open, rogue, your pursed up mou'. 
 Let your daddie see it, too ; 
 Tell your grandame, wi' a crow, 
 Ane is come ! Let a' folk know. 
 
 Ane is come ! There's many more 
 Hidin' there ahint the door ; 
 An' a mou' fu', dinna doubt, 
 Soon maun be a-crowdin' out. 
 
THE DOUCE, DOUCE GUIDFOLK. 
 
 THE DOUCE, DOUCE GUIDFOLK. 
 
 I lo'e the douce, douce guidfolk, 
 'Mang whom my bairnheid went ; 
 
 Their honest name, unkenned to fame^ 
 Unkenned, too, their descent. 
 
 Their han's begrimed and horny, 
 Their brees wrinklit an' auld, 
 
 Their cheeks aft dun frae win' an' sun. 
 Or crimson frae the cold. 
 
 Ere yet the morning sun -burst 
 
 Broke on the clovered hill, 
 The scythe to wield they went afield, 
 
 Wi' stalwart step an' will. 
 
 An' when the dew-wet gloamin' 
 
 Descended saft an' fair. 
 Uprose to greet the mercy seat, 
 
 Their sturdy sang an' pray'r. 
 
 An' then, when came a Sunday, 
 Eschewed their week-day work : 
 
 Wi' rev'rent mien, wi' wife an' wean^, 
 They gathered in the kirk. 
 
 Ah ! they were douce, douce guidfolk ! 
 
 Ay, that's the phrase for them ; 
 Steadfast an' gran', they wrought the lan% 
 
 An' wore toil's diadem. 
 
THE DOUCE, DOUCE GUI DEO L/C. 
 
 Their dust moals i' the kirkyard, 
 
 Rude -cut their names i' stone ; 
 They walk in white, where there's nae night, 
 
 Their Lord has said, weel done ! 
 
 33 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 016 165 683^ 5ji^