 | Poems and Songs |  |
43
By the Burn of Shield.
“Come tell us that tale of the brown-hair'd child,
Who came to the stubble field,
And sat on your plough, in a snow-white blouse,
By the muddy Burn of Shield.”
Who came to the stubble field,
And sat on your plough, in a snow-white blouse,
By the muddy Burn of Shield.”
“'Tis a story that never grows old to me:
I am crooning it every day,
And I feel I shall tell it in other worlds
When this one has passed away.
I am crooning it every day,
And I feel I shall tell it in other worlds
When this one has passed away.
“Long years ago, in my twentieth year,
A serf on a farm was I:
The ship-throng'd Clyde in the hollow was seen,
And the city smoked close by.
A serf on a farm was I:
The ship-throng'd Clyde in the hollow was seen,
And the city smoked close by.
“The city lay close by the fair green fields—
Like a toad by a water spring—
And into the vortex of vice I walked,
And thought it a manly thing:
Like a toad by a water spring—
And into the vortex of vice I walked,
And thought it a manly thing:
44
“I drank of the city's blackest draught,
Oh! deeper than tongue can tell!
Till I toiled in pain, with a wasting frame,
And an ever-present hell.
Oh! deeper than tongue can tell!
Till I toiled in pain, with a wasting frame,
And an ever-present hell.
“The celandine shone by the sheltering hedge,
And the lark sang hid in the sky:
But what were the flowers or the song of birds
To a wretch so vile as I?
And the lark sang hid in the sky:
But what were the flowers or the song of birds
To a wretch so vile as I?
“'Twas thus one day, long years ago,
I ploughed in a stubble field,
With a willing team and an easy hold,
By the muddy Burn of Shield.
I ploughed in a stubble field,
With a willing team and an easy hold,
By the muddy Burn of Shield.
“The day was bright, and the great clouds white—
'Twas April's warmest day;
And the gowans, arrayed in their rosiest tints,
Were waiting to welcome May:
'Twas April's warmest day;
And the gowans, arrayed in their rosiest tints,
Were waiting to welcome May:
“When a vision I saw in the broad daylight,
At the furrow's end afar,
And I stopped my team mid-field to gaze
Like a bard on a rising star:
At the furrow's end afar,
And I stopped my team mid-field to gaze
Like a bard on a rising star:
45
“'Twas a tiny form in a snowdrop blouse,
With the skirt of the harebell's blue,
And sunny hair of the hazel's brown,
And cheeks of the gowan's hue.
With the skirt of the harebell's blue,
And sunny hair of the hazel's brown,
And cheeks of the gowan's hue.
“And on with a sweetly timid air,
In the furrow's depth she toiled,
While heavy with clay were her slippered feet,
And her skirt with the brown earth soiled;
In the furrow's depth she toiled,
While heavy with clay were her slippered feet,
And her skirt with the brown earth soiled;
“Till the vision I saw at the furrow's end
To a gentle child had grown,
With a sweet bright smile, and round her waist
A coral and golden zone.
To a gentle child had grown,
With a sweet bright smile, and round her waist
A coral and golden zone.
“Oh! far from the city's vice I seem'd,
In a presence so pure and fair,
And I felt 'twas the guiding hand of Heaven
To save me had brought her there.
In a presence so pure and fair,
And I felt 'twas the guiding hand of Heaven
To save me had brought her there.
“‘And where do you live, little lady,’ I said,
‘And where are you going now?’
‘I come but to ask you for leave,’ said she,
‘To walk up and down by your plough.’
‘And where are you going now?’
‘I come but to ask you for leave,’ said she,
‘To walk up and down by your plough.’
46
“‘But where do you live, little lady?’ said I;
It would have been no surprise
Had she answered—‘My home's where the angels are,
In the land where nothing dies.’
It would have been no surprise
Had she answered—‘My home's where the angels are,
In the land where nothing dies.’
“‘But yonder is father's house,’ she said,
‘Where the silken flag you see,
And yonder is father's turret tower,
With white doves on it three.
‘Where the silken flag you see,
And yonder is father's turret tower,
With white doves on it three.
“‘And yon is our garden wall—within
The berries are budding now,
I'll bring you some in the summer time—
May I walk up and down by your plough?’
The berries are budding now,
I'll bring you some in the summer time—
May I walk up and down by your plough?’
“‘Your limbs would be weary,’ I said, ‘sweet child,
And sure 'twould be better far
To sit on the plough and be pulled along,
Like a queen on a royal car.’
And sure 'twould be better far
To sit on the plough and be pulled along,
Like a queen on a royal car.’
“Then sparkled the little one's eyes with joy,
‘Oh! that will be grand,’ said she;
So I made her a seat on the binding bolts,
And on in the furrow went we.
‘Oh! that will be grand,’ said she;
So I made her a seat on the binding bolts,
And on in the furrow went we.
47
“Oh! proud was I of my gentle charge,
And proud of their load were my team;
But while they were pulling with springy steps,
I feared it would prove but a dream.
And proud of their load were my team;
But while they were pulling with springy steps,
I feared it would prove but a dream.
“I feared it would prove but a sweet day-dream,
As wondrous as it was rare,
But I never once doubted 'twas Heaven itself,
To save me had brought her there.
As wondrous as it was rare,
But I never once doubted 'twas Heaven itself,
To save me had brought her there.
“The April passed and the May day came,
And oft at my side was she,
And her presence was ne'er like an earthly thing,
But a glimpse of Heaven to me.
And oft at my side was she,
And her presence was ne'er like an earthly thing,
But a glimpse of Heaven to me.
“A glimpse of the open gate of Heaven—
I dared my eyes to raise,
And wished but to live as I might have lived,
To earn one pure thought's praise.
I dared my eyes to raise,
And wished but to live as I might have lived,
To earn one pure thought's praise.
“No thought had she of the change she wrought,
Nor aim but a happy hour;
But her purity was to my new-born wish
Like the sun and the summer shower.
Nor aim but a happy hour;
But her purity was to my new-born wish
Like the sun and the summer shower.
48
“It was to my heart like the summer rain
To the timid and tender flower,
Till the demon that over my thoughts held sway
Gave place to a holier power.
To the timid and tender flower,
Till the demon that over my thoughts held sway
Gave place to a holier power.
“The May day passed and the term-time came,
I came where you find me now,
And only in fancy the brown-haired girl
Has prattled since then on my plough.
I came where you find me now,
And only in fancy the brown-haired girl
Has prattled since then on my plough.
“I see her now as I saw her then,
Though fifty years are gone,
With her merry smile and her blouse of snow
And her coral and golden zone.
Though fifty years are gone,
With her merry smile and her blouse of snow
And her coral and golden zone.
“I see her now as she sat on my plough,
And ne'er has she been away,
With her sunny hair and her sinless eyes,
From my thoughts a single day.
And ne'er has she been away,
With her sunny hair and her sinless eyes,
From my thoughts a single day.
“I see her now with her gowan face—
'Tis strange that she ne'er appears,
Like a matron lady, sage and grey,
On the borders of sixty years.
'Tis strange that she ne'er appears,
Like a matron lady, sage and grey,
On the borders of sixty years.
49
“Wherever I wandered, wherever I toiled,
I bowed but to one child-queen,
And never a face in my heart's love-nook
But her's has ever been.
I bowed but to one child-queen,
And never a face in my heart's love-nook
But her's has ever been.
“And even in the Heaven of my dream ('tis strange)
Is a burn like the Burn of Shield,
Where seraphs sit singing on golden ploughs
In a silver-stubbled field.”
Is a burn like the Burn of Shield,
Where seraphs sit singing on golden ploughs
In a silver-stubbled field.”
May 10th, 1866.
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