Willie Winkie and Other Songs and Poems By William Miller: Edited, with an Introduction by Robert Ford |
 |
 |
|
Hairst.
|
|
 | Willie Winkie and Other Songs and Poems |  |
Hairst.
Tho' weel I lo'e the budding Spring,
I'll no misca' John Frost,
Nor will I roose the Summer days
At gowden Autumn's cost;
Por a' the seasons in their turn
Some wished-for pleasures bring,
And hand in hand they jink aboot,
Like weans at jingo-ring.
I'll no misca' John Frost,
Nor will I roose the Summer days
At gowden Autumn's cost;
Por a' the seasons in their turn
Some wished-for pleasures bring,
And hand in hand they jink aboot,
Like weans at jingo-ring.
Fu' weel I mind how aft ye said,
When Winter nights were lang,
“I weary for the Summer woods,
The lintie's tittering sang;”
But when the woods grew gay and green,
And birds sang sweet and clear,
It then was, “When will hairst-time come,
The gloamin' o' the year?”
When Winter nights were lang,
“I weary for the Summer woods,
The lintie's tittering sang;”
14
And birds sang sweet and clear,
It then was, “When will hairst-time come,
The gloamin' o' the year?”
Oh! hairst-time's like a lipping cup
That's gi'en wi' furthy glee!
The fields are fu' o' yellow corn,
Red apples bend the tree;
The genty air, sae ladylike!
Has on a scented gown,
And wi' an airy string she leads
The thistle-seed balloon.
That's gi'en wi' furthy glee!
The fields are fu' o' yellow corn,
Red apples bend the tree;
The genty air, sae ladylike!
Has on a scented gown,
And wi' an airy string she leads
The thistle-seed balloon.
The yellow corn will porridge mak',
The apples taste your mou',
And ower the stibble riggs I'll chase
The thistle-down wi' you;
I'll pu' the haw frae aff the thorn,
The red hip frae the brier—
For wealth hangs in each tangled nook
In the gloaming o' the year.
The apples taste your mou',
And ower the stibble riggs I'll chase
The thistle-down wi' you;
I'll pu' the haw frae aff the thorn,
The red hip frae the brier—
For wealth hangs in each tangled nook
In the gloaming o' the year.
Sweet Hope! ye biggit ha'e a nest
Within my bairnie's breast—
Oh! may his trusting heart ne'er trow
That whiles ye sing in jest;
Some coming joys are dancing aye
Before his langing een,—
He sees the flower that isna blawn,
And birds that ne'er were seen;—
Within my bairnie's breast—
Oh! may his trusting heart ne'er trow
That whiles ye sing in jest;
Some coming joys are dancing aye
Before his langing een,—
He sees the flower that isna blawn,
And birds that ne'er were seen;—
15
The stibble rigg is aye ahin'!
The gowden grain afore,
And apples drop into his lap,
Or row in at the door!
Come, hairst-time, then, unto my bairn,
Drest in your gayest gear,
Wi' saft and winnowing win's to cool
The gloaming o' the year!
The gowden grain afore,
And apples drop into his lap,
Or row in at the door!
Come, hairst-time, then, unto my bairn,
Drest in your gayest gear,
Wi' saft and winnowing win's to cool
The gloaming o' the year!
| Willie Winkie and Other Songs and Poems | |