Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
THE MOTHER. |
| V. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
THE MOTHER.
There's a tear within my e'e, lassie—
A sorrow in my heart;
And I canna smile on thee,
Though dear to me thou art.
A sorrow in my heart;
And I canna smile on thee,
Though dear to me thou art.
161
My mither's dead an' gane,
An' I am lanely now;
An' the friendless there is nane
To love, save God an' you.
An' I am lanely now;
An' the friendless there is nane
To love, save God an' you.
My mither's dead an' gane;
She has been a' to me:—
O! I wish when we are ane
I may be sae to thee.
She has been a' to me:—
O! I wish when we are ane
I may be sae to thee.
'Mang cauld an' hunger's waes
She nurtured me wi' care;
An' to gi'e me meat an' claes
She toil'd baith lang and sair.
She nurtured me wi' care;
An' to gi'e me meat an' claes
She toil'd baith lang and sair.
She toil'd an' ne'er thought lang,
An' keepit hersel' fu' cauld,
That I might couthie gang
When winter winds were bauld.
An' keepit hersel' fu' cauld,
That I might couthie gang
When winter winds were bauld.
She liv'd for Heaven's land,
An' gude she gart me lo'e;
An' she tauld me aye to stand
Wi' the faithfu' an' the true.
An' gude she gart me lo'e;
An' she tauld me aye to stand
Wi' the faithfu' an' the true.
She lived in povertie—
A widow lane was she;
But her deein' words to me
Were, “Haud by honestie.”
A widow lane was she;
But her deein' words to me
Were, “Haud by honestie.”
162
The puir maun joy resign—
A puir man's wife was she;
An', like her, when thou art mine
A puir man's bride thou'lt be.
A puir man's wife was she;
An', like her, when thou art mine
A puir man's bride thou'lt be.
We ha'e love, but naething mair;
An' if frae thee I'm ta'en,
Thou'lt ha'e to struggle sair,
Like her that's dead an' gane.
An' if frae thee I'm ta'en,
Thou'lt ha'e to struggle sair,
Like her that's dead an' gane.
Thou'lt ha'e to struggle sair,
To nurture men like me;
Baith toil an' scorn to bear—
The puir folk's destinie.
To nurture men like me;
Baith toil an' scorn to bear—
The puir folk's destinie.
But there comes a restin' day—
She's soundly sleepin' now;
The joyfu' an' the wae
Are ane when life is through!
She's soundly sleepin' now;
The joyfu' an' the wae
Are ane when life is through!
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |