The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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OWRE STEEP ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
335
OWRE STEEP ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
A SONG.
Owre steep rocky mountains, bleak, barren, an' wild,
Sae wearied, I dannert alane;
When a bonnie young lassie, wha saw my sad wae,
Conveyed me awa to her hame.
Wi' bonnie green heather her cottage was thatched,
Green thrashes were strewed on the floor;
While the wild honeysuckle her winnock crept roun',
An' shaded the seat at her door.
Sae wearied, I dannert alane;
When a bonnie young lassie, wha saw my sad wae,
Conveyed me awa to her hame.
Wi' bonnie green heather her cottage was thatched,
Green thrashes were strewed on the floor;
While the wild honeysuckle her winnock crept roun',
An' shaded the seat at her door.
We sat ourselves down to a rural repast,—
Fresh fruits frae the wood richly dressed,—
While frae her black e'e sweet glances she cast,
Love slyly crept into my breast.
I tauld her I loved her; she modestly said,
In accents both sweet and divine,
“I hae rich anes rejected, an' great anes denied,
Yet tak' me, dear laddie, I'm thine.”
Fresh fruits frae the wood richly dressed,—
While frae her black e'e sweet glances she cast,
Love slyly crept into my breast.
I tauld her I loved her; she modestly said,
In accents both sweet and divine,
“I hae rich anes rejected, an' great anes denied,
Yet tak' me, dear laddie, I'm thine.”
Her air was sae modest, her voice was sae sweet,
An' rural, yet sweet were her charms;
I kissed the red blushes that glowed owre her face,
An' clasped the dear maid in my arms.
Now blithely together we watch our ain sheep,
By the side o' yon clear wimplin' stream;
An' resting on each other's bosom we sleep,
In cheerfu' bless'd, happy, sweet dreams.
An' rural, yet sweet were her charms;
I kissed the red blushes that glowed owre her face,
An' clasped the dear maid in my arms.
Now blithely together we watch our ain sheep,
By the side o' yon clear wimplin' stream;
An' resting on each other's bosom we sleep,
In cheerfu' bless'd, happy, sweet dreams.
Together we stray owre yon green heathery braes,
An' range through the wild grassy fen;
Or rest by the side o' some clear gushing rill,
That rins down to wild Calder glen.
To pomp an' great riches she ne'er was inclined,
But is glad in her humble descent;
So cheerfu' we live in our ain rural cot,
Bless'd, happy, an' always content.
An' range through the wild grassy fen;
Or rest by the side o' some clear gushing rill,
That rins down to wild Calder glen.
To pomp an' great riches she ne'er was inclined,
But is glad in her humble descent;
So cheerfu' we live in our ain rural cot,
Bless'd, happy, an' always content.
336
This second sang was scarcely at a close,
When frae his seat a kintra fellow rose;
But hardly had he oped his mouth to speak,
When a boss turnip rattled owre his cheek.
“Wha threw that turnip! curse yer blood!” he cries.
“Sit down, ye bitch!” anither ane replies;
“For, gi he dinna keep out o' my licht,
I'm damn'd, my man, but I'll gie you a fricht.”
“Come, stop your bletherin' there, ye graceless loon,
For, see! the Spouter's coming: quick, sit down!”
The folk aroun' them cried; as Mr. Main
Cam' walkin' in, to gie a tale again.
When frae his seat a kintra fellow rose;
But hardly had he oped his mouth to speak,
When a boss turnip rattled owre his cheek.
“Wha threw that turnip! curse yer blood!” he cries.
“Sit down, ye bitch!” anither ane replies;
“For, gi he dinna keep out o' my licht,
I'm damn'd, my man, but I'll gie you a fricht.”
“Come, stop your bletherin' there, ye graceless loon,
For, see! the Spouter's coming: quick, sit down!”
The folk aroun' them cried; as Mr. Main
Cam' walkin' in, to gie a tale again.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |