The poetical works of William Nicholson With a memoir by Malcolm M'L. Harper ... Fourth edition |
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THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH. |
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The poetical works of William Nicholson | ||
THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH.
And the fient a body did him ken;
He tirled na lang, but he glided ben
Wi' a dreary, dreary hum.
When the drumlie cloud has it half o'ercast;
Or the struggling moon when she's sair distrest.—
O sirs! 'twas Aiken-drum.
Wi' a gape and a glower till their lugs did crack,
As the shapeless phantom mum'ling spak,
“Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum?”
As they stared at this wild and unyirthly wight,
As he stauket in 'tween the dark and the light,
And graned out, “Aiken-drum!”
Cries Kate, “there's a hole where a nose should hae been;
And the mouth's like a gash which a horn had ri'en;
Wow! keep's frae Aiken-drum!”
The lassie swarfed, loot fa' the pail;
Rob's lingle brak as he men't the flail,
At the sight o' Aiken-drum.
A lang blue beard wan'ered down like a vest;
But the glare o' his e'e nae bard hath exprest,
Nor the skimes o' Aiken-drum.
But a philabeg o' the rashes green,
And his knotted knees played ay knoit between:
What a sight was Aiken-drum!
As they trailed on the grun' by his taeless feet;
E'en the auld gudeman himsel' did sweat,
To look at Aiken-drum.
The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane;
While the young ane closer clasped her wean,
And turned frae Aiken-drum.
And she deemed the Bible might ward aff scaith,
Be it benshee, bogle, ghaist or wraith—
But it fear't na Aiken-drum.
“What wad ye, where won ye—by sea or by lan'?
I conjure ye—speak—by the Beuk in my han'!”
What a grane ga'e Aiken-drum!
I dwalt in a spot where a burn rins na by;
But I'se dwall now wi' you, if ye like to try—
Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum?
I'll berry your crap by the light o' the moon,
And baa the bairns wi' an unken'd tune,
If ye'll keep puir Aiken-drum.
I'll kirn the kirn, and I'll turn the bread;
And the wildest fillie that ever ran rede
I'se tame't,” quoth Aiken-drum!
To gather the dew frae the heather bell—
And to look at my face in your clear crystal well,
Might gie pleasure to Aiken-drum.
I use nae beddin', shoon, nor sark;
But a cogfu' o' brose 'tween the light and dark,
Is the wage o' Aiken-drum.”
Our workers are scant—we hae routh o' meal;
Gif he'll do as he says—be he man, be he de'il,
Wow! we'll try this Aiken-drum.”
His eldritch look gars us swarf wi' fear,
And the fient a ane will the house come near,
If they think but o' Aiken-drum.
Despair sits brooding aboon his e'e bree,
And unchancie to light o' a maiden's e'e,
Is the grim glower o' Aiken-drum.”
Is't na hallowmas now, and the crap out yet?”
Sae she silenced them a' wi' a stamp o' her fit;
“Sit yer wa's down, Aiken-drum.”
By the streamer's gleam, or the glance o' the moon;
A word, or a wish—and the Brownie cam sune,
Sae helpfu' was Aiken-drum.
He ne'er could look straught on Macmillan's cup;
They watched—but nane saw him his brose ever sup,
Nor a spune sought Aiken-drum.
For mony a day a toiled wight was he;
While the bairns played harmless roun' his knee,
Sae social was Aiken-drum.
Fond o' a' things feat for the first five weeks,
Laid a mouldy pair o' her ain man's breeks
By the brose o' Aiken-drum.
What spell was him and the breeks between;
For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen,
And sair missed was Aiken-drum.
Crying “Lang, lang now may I greet and grieve;
For alas! I hae gotten baith fee and leave,
O, luckless Aiken-drum!”
Wi' your pros and your cons wad ye decide
'Gainst the 'sponsible voice o' a hale country-side
On the facts 'bout Aiken-drum?
The mark o' his feet's left on mony a stane;
And mony a wife and mony a wean
Tell the feats o' Aiken-drum.
At spiritual guests and a' sic gear,
At the Glashnoch mill hae swat wi' fear,
And looked roun' for Aiken-drum.
When the moon was set, and the stars gied nae light,
At the roaring linn in the howe o' the night,
Wi' sughs like Aiken-drum.
On one occasion Brownie had undertaken to gather the sheep into the bught by an early hour, and so zealously did he perform his task, that not only was there not one sheep left on the hill, but he had also collected a number of hares, which were found fairly penned along with them. Upon being congratulated on his extraordinary success, Brown exclaimed, “Confound thae wee grey anes! they cost me mair trouble than a' the lave o' them.”
A communion cup, belonging to John M'Millan, founder of the body lately known as the Reformed Presbyterian, now in union with the Free Church of Scotland —a church in Castle-Douglas bearing his name. Mr M'Millan was minister of Balmaghie for more than two years, and was deposed for his nonconformity to the Established forms of Church Government in December, 1703. He died on 1st December, 1753, at Broomhill, in Lanarkshire, at the venerable age of 84 years.
This cup was treasured by a zealous disciple in the parish of Kirkcowan, and long used as a test by which to ascertain the orthodoxy of suspected persons. If, on taking the precious relic into his hand, the person trembled, or gave other symptoms of agitation, he was denounced as having bowed the knee to Baal, and sacrificed at the altar of idolatry; and it required, through his future life, no common exertions in the good cause, to efface the stigma thus fixed upon him.
The poetical works of William Nicholson | ||