Solitary hours By Caroline Southey ... Second edition [i. e. by C. A. Bowles] |
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OH! ENVIE'S AN UNCANNIE GUEST. |
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229
OH! ENVIE'S AN UNCANNIE GUEST.
Oh! Envie's an uncanny guest,
I've heard it a'way, naethin' doubtin';
An' yet, she bideth i' my breast,
An' winna gang, for a' my routin'.
I've heard it a'way, naethin' doubtin';
An' yet, she bideth i' my breast,
An' winna gang, for a' my routin'.
She does na wear her foulest face
To scare me quite, the crafty quean!
But whiles, a sentimental grace—
A saft, poetic, pensive mien;
To scare me quite, the crafty quean!
But whiles, a sentimental grace—
A saft, poetic, pensive mien;
As, “Hark!” quo' she, “that mirthfu' sang,
Yon Birdie's, frae the dancin' rowans,
An' mark yon Lassie link alang,
Sae lightsome, o'er the dewy gowans.
Yon Birdie's, frae the dancin' rowans,
An' mark yon Lassie link alang,
Sae lightsome, o'er the dewy gowans.
230
“Oh, warldly honours! warldly walth!
How far thae lowly lots surpass ye;
Contentit labour, jocund health,
O' yon sma' Bird, an' simple Lassie.
How far thae lowly lots surpass ye;
Contentit labour, jocund health,
O' yon sma' Bird, an' simple Lassie.
“Blythe, bonnie creatures! fain would I,
Tho' walth an' fame I've nane to barter—”
Sae softly thus will Envie sigh—
Sae saintly, like a Virgin Martyr.
Tho' walth an' fame I've nane to barter—”
Sae softly thus will Envie sigh—
Sae saintly, like a Virgin Martyr.
Nor scowleth she, wi' fiendish leuks,
At heaps o' gowd, or laurel crowns,
But gravely whispers, “Gowd buys beuks,
An' lovin' lauds, an' silver soun's!”
At heaps o' gowd, or laurel crowns,
But gravely whispers, “Gowd buys beuks,
An' lovin' lauds, an' silver soun's!”
An' that's but truth, an' little wrang,
We'll a' alloo, in siclike havers—
But let alane the jaud, or lang
She starts mair guilefu' clishmaclavers;
We'll a' alloo, in siclike havers—
But let alane the jaud, or lang
She starts mair guilefu' clishmaclavers;
As, “Leuk!” quo' she, “yon burly chiel,
Wi' red, round face, like Hob the miller,
What blund'rin' turn o' Fortune's wheel
Gat him the luck o' mickle siller?
Wi' red, round face, like Hob the miller,
What blund'rin' turn o' Fortune's wheel
Gat him the luck o' mickle siller?
231
“What earthly bliss conceiveth he
Ayont a mess o' sav'ry pottage—
A flarin' coach—a shrievaltie—
A gimcrack castle, or a cottage?
Ayont a mess o' sav'ry pottage—
A flarin' coach—a shrievaltie—
A gimcrack castle, or a cottage?
“An' tither wise-like wizen carle,
Wi' visage yellow as a crocus,
An' eyes a' pucker'd in a harl,
That peer through's han' (which mak's a focus)—
Wi' visage yellow as a crocus,
An' eyes a' pucker'd in a harl,
That peer through's han' (which mak's a focus)—
“At yonner awfu' brick-dust daub,
His bran-new Reubens—Reubens! horrit!
Ay, warrantit by Mynheer Schaub,
Wha's pooch'd the ninny's thoosan's for it.
His bran-new Reubens—Reubens! horrit!
Ay, warrantit by Mynheer Schaub,
Wha's pooch'd the ninny's thoosan's for it.
“An' that auld crabbit chuff! wha pays
Doon hunderts for an auld Elzeevir;
An' that young fule! wi' four blood bays,
An' nae mair spirit than a weaver,
Doon hunderts for an auld Elzeevir;
An' that young fule! wi' four blood bays,
An' nae mair spirit than a weaver,
“For aught that's really fine an' gran'—
An' yet the cretur's travell'd Europe,
An' tauks o' Rome, the Vatican,
The Greeks, the Louvre, Voltaire, an' Merope.
An' yet the cretur's travell'd Europe,
An' tauks o' Rome, the Vatican,
The Greeks, the Louvre, Voltaire, an' Merope.
232
“An' that gay Dowager an' daughters,
Wha've been abroad, an' brought back hame
French laces—graces—scented waters—
Mosaics—Cameos, an'—fame.
Wha've been abroad, an' brought back hame
French laces—graces—scented waters—
Mosaics—Cameos, an'—fame.
“An' a' thae folk rin to an' fra,
An' scatter gowd like chucky-stanes;
While ither folk, for aught I knaw,
As gude, if no as lucky anes”—
An' scatter gowd like chucky-stanes;
While ither folk, for aught I knaw,
As gude, if no as lucky anes”—
“Haud, Madame Envie! Are ye there?”
Quoth I—“Methinks, frae sma' beginnin's,
For a' yere sanctimonious air,
Ye're gettin' on till serious sinnin's.
Quoth I—“Methinks, frae sma' beginnin's,
For a' yere sanctimonious air,
Ye're gettin' on till serious sinnin's.
“What's ways o' ither folk to me?
Or a' their gowd—or hoo they spend it?
Fause hizzie! let a bodie be
Wha'd fain be humble and contentit.”
Or a' their gowd—or hoo they spend it?
Fause hizzie! let a bodie be
Wha'd fain be humble and contentit.”
“Oh! very weel—nae need,” quo' she,
“To rage wi' virtue sae heroic;
Mak much o' yere philosophie,
Ye'll need it a', my leddy Stoic!
“To rage wi' virtue sae heroic;
Mak much o' yere philosophie,
Ye'll need it a', my leddy Stoic!
233
“When Beltane comes, an' a' the dells
An' a' the banks an' braes are ringin'
Wi' bleat o' lambs, an' tinklin' bells,
An' wimplin' burns, an' lintwhites singin';
An' a' the banks an' braes are ringin'
Wi' bleat o' lambs, an' tinklin' bells,
An' wimplin' burns, an' lintwhites singin';
“And a' the bonnie broomie knowes
Wi' tufts o' flowerin' may are crested,
Festoon'd wi' monie a wildin' rose,
An' vi'lets, 'mangst the auld roots nested;
Wi' tufts o' flowerin' may are crested,
Festoon'd wi' monie a wildin' rose,
An' vi'lets, 'mangst the auld roots nested;
“An' ev'ry whiff o' win's a freight,
Frae Heav'n itsel', o' sweet sensation—
An' ev'ry livin' thing's elate
Wi' Nature's blissfu' renovation;
Frae Heav'n itsel', o' sweet sensation—
An' ev'ry livin' thing's elate
Wi' Nature's blissfu' renovation;
“An ye're a captive—sick an' lane,
Sae sadly frae yere window peerin',
Ye'll need a heart o' flint and stane
To bar me fairly out o' hearin'.
Sae sadly frae yere window peerin',
Ye'll need a heart o' flint and stane
To bar me fairly out o' hearin'.
“An' liltin' loud, like merle in June,
Comes kintra Joan, but loupin' pass ye—
I guess we'll wauk that auncient croon—
‘Oh, Heaven! were I some Cottage Lassie!’”
Comes kintra Joan, but loupin' pass ye—
I guess we'll wauk that auncient croon—
‘Oh, Heaven! were I some Cottage Lassie!’”
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