Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] A New Edition with Illustrations by A. S. Boyd |
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Hughie's Early Memories. |
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 | Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |  |
59
Hughie's Early Memories.
“Ille me tecum locus et beatæ
Postulant arces.”
—Car. ii. 6.
Postulant arces.”
—Car. ii. 6.
When green again, a gledsome hue,
The auld hill-taps cam' back to view,
An' cluds broke up, an' skies shone thro',
An' glorified the Ochils,—
The auld hill-taps cam' back to view,
An' cluds broke up, an' skies shone thro',
An' glorified the Ochils,—
I mind it weel, we took the braes,
We left the toun like hunted raes,
We hardly waited for oor claes,
To rin an' speel the Ochils!
We left the toun like hunted raes,
We hardly waited for oor claes,
To rin an' speel the Ochils!
We lap the burns for bud an' bell,
We scour'd for whussle-wud the dell,
And ance we happen'd on a stell,
High up amang the Ochils!
We scour'd for whussle-wud the dell,
And ance we happen'd on a stell,
High up amang the Ochils!
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We sheuk the buss, we staned the seggs,
We scaur'd the wild-dyuck aff her eggs,
We scaur'd the heron aff his legs,
And aff the very Ochils!
We scaur'd the wild-dyuck aff her eggs,
We scaur'd the heron aff his legs,
And aff the very Ochils!
When Simmer days were lang an' fine,
We cam' wi' wicker wands an' twine,
An' tint, an' thocht it heaven to tine,
The 'oors amang the Ochils!
We cam' wi' wicker wands an' twine,
An' tint, an' thocht it heaven to tine,
The 'oors amang the Ochils!
Tho' deil a mony troots we gruppit,
Baith owre and in the linns we luppit,
And to the sark, or past it, strippit,
Secure amang the Ochils!
Baith owre and in the linns we luppit,
And to the sark, or past it, strippit,
Secure amang the Ochils!
Oor breeks lay scatter'd on the banks,
We kirn'd the water wi' oor shanks,
An' salmon-red we play'd oor pranks,
Run deils amang the Ochils!
We kirn'd the water wi' oor shanks,
An' salmon-red we play'd oor pranks,
Run deils amang the Ochils!
When Autumn sent the settled weather,
We lay amang the purple heather,
Listening the bees for 'oors thegither
Bummin' a' ower the Ochils!
We lay amang the purple heather,
Listening the bees for 'oors thegither
Bummin' a' ower the Ochils!
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We spied the lairds, a beardit lot,
Wi' cudgel-staff an' raucous throat,
Stappin' aboot, withoot the coat,
At hame amang the Ochils!
Wi' cudgel-staff an' raucous throat,
Stappin' aboot, withoot the coat,
At hame amang the Ochils!
When Winter cam', an' frosts were keen,
An' snaw-ploos in the street were seen,
We saw them like a far-aff frien',—
They were anither Ochils!
An' snaw-ploos in the street were seen,
We saw them like a far-aff frien',—
They were anither Ochils!
What tragedy o' bird an' beass,
Destruction to the cock-laird race,
We kentna o', we could but guess,
Was happenin' i' the Ochils!
Destruction to the cock-laird race,
We kentna o', we could but guess,
Was happenin' i' the Ochils!
But green again, a gledsome hue,
The auld hill-taps cam' back to view,
An' the cock-lairds gat up, an' crew
Possession o' the Ochils!
The auld hill-taps cam' back to view,
An' the cock-lairds gat up, an' crew
Possession o' the Ochils!
| Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] | |