 | Annie Weir and Other Poems |  |
45
GIBBIE'S LAMENT.
Dear Bessie, owre my dreary cell
Again has gloomed the night;
The sulky jailer has been roun'
And ta'en away my light.
Baith heaven and earth seem fled, and through
The winnock at my side
I vainly gaze—the verra stars
Frae me their faces hide.
Again has gloomed the night;
The sulky jailer has been roun'
And ta'en away my light.
Baith heaven and earth seem fled, and through
The winnock at my side
I vainly gaze—the verra stars
Frae me their faces hide.
The hale day lang I've pingled owre
That heap o' tautit tow,
And thought my burning finger-nebs
Wad sotten't in a low.
And oh I'm sure I wish they had—
The thought may weel be wrang,
But patience comes but seldom here,
And never tarries lang.
That heap o' tautit tow,
And thought my burning finger-nebs
Wad sotten't in a low.
And oh I'm sure I wish they had—
The thought may weel be wrang,
But patience comes but seldom here,
And never tarries lang.
46
Oh, Bessie, could you through thae wa's
Your faithfu' Gibbie see,
I'm sure your heart wad burst in sabs,
Your tears would blear your e'e;
To think that I sae cauld should lie,
My bed as hard's a stane,
Wi' no a living thing except
The cloks to hear my mane.
Your faithfu' Gibbie see,
I'm sure your heart wad burst in sabs,
Your tears would blear your e'e;
To think that I sae cauld should lie,
My bed as hard's a stane,
Wi' no a living thing except
The cloks to hear my mane.
Were I a swindler or a thief
This cell would be my pride,
There canna be a better place
Frae a' the world to hide;
But I've nae skill to steal or cheat,
Yet here I'm forced to stay:
I've thought on't, Bessie, till I fear
My thoughts are gaun agley.
This cell would be my pride,
There canna be a better place
Frae a' the world to hide;
But I've nae skill to steal or cheat,
Yet here I'm forced to stay:
I've thought on't, Bessie, till I fear
My thoughts are gaun agley.
My head is turnin', Bessie dear;
I ken I'm wauken wide,
And yet I see ye wi' the bairns
Here stannin' at my side.
Your breath is on my cheek, your haun'
Upon my face I fin'—
It's passin' owre my shirpet chafts,
And een sae far faun in.
I ken I'm wauken wide,
And yet I see ye wi' the bairns
Here stannin' at my side.
47
Upon my face I fin'—
It's passin' owre my shirpet chafts,
And een sae far faun in.
But yesterday I waled me out
A tuft o' tow sae fine,
And sat me doun, wi' mournfu' pride,
To plait a fishin'-line;
And had I haen but ae wee swirl
O' thy saft gouden hair,
I would hae bow't a preen, and tied
A yellow flee fu' rare.
A tuft o' tow sae fine,
And sat me doun, wi' mournfu' pride,
To plait a fishin'-line;
And had I haen but ae wee swirl
O' thy saft gouden hair,
I would hae bow't a preen, and tied
A yellow flee fu' rare.
And, Bessie, on my bed I sat
And thought the floor a stream,
And siller grilse and gouden trout
Were soomin' through my dream,
When in the prowlin' jailer cam'—
The fiend was in his e'e;
And, Bessie, with the supper-hour
Nae supper cam' to me.
And thought the floor a stream,
And siller grilse and gouden trout
Were soomin' through my dream,
When in the prowlin' jailer cam'—
The fiend was in his e'e;
And, Bessie, with the supper-hour
Nae supper cam' to me.
48
Oh, Bessie, to the water side
At dewy gloamin' steal,
And in your faithfu' Gibbie's name
Bid a' the streams fareweel.
For me, I'll never see them mair;
I hear a voice that says—
“Life's pirn's unwinding fast; ye'll ne'er
Wun through thae sixty days.”
At dewy gloamin' steal,
And in your faithfu' Gibbie's name
Bid a' the streams fareweel.
For me, I'll never see them mair;
I hear a voice that says—
“Life's pirn's unwinding fast; ye'll ne'er
Wun through thae sixty days.”
| Annie Weir and Other Poems | |