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166
THE BIRDIE.
I met a wee bird in the early dawn,
When the morning star was shining,
That hovering aboon me said, “Whare are ye gaun,
Your morning slumber tyneing?”
When the morning star was shining,
That hovering aboon me said, “Whare are ye gaun,
Your morning slumber tyneing?”
“I'm gaun to yon cliff wi' the broomy brow,
With the linn beyond it leaping,
To sit and gaze on the pool below,
With peace in its bosom sleeping.
With the linn beyond it leaping,
To sit and gaze on the pool below,
With peace in its bosom sleeping.
“I'm gaun to gaze on the tranquil pool,
While the star-decked east is brightening,
To dream of the ending of sorrow's rule,
And labour's burden lightening.”
While the star-decked east is brightening,
To dream of the ending of sorrow's rule,
And labour's burden lightening.”
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“What sorrows hae ye?” said the little bird,
Its dark e'e kindly beaming,
“And what is the labour that leans so hard,
And tints wi' grief your dreaming?
Its dark e'e kindly beaming,
“And what is the labour that leans so hard,
And tints wi' grief your dreaming?
“Why come ye on tempting cliffs to mope,
In the dark pool's peace believing?
I fear you've been listening to flattering Hope,
And bear like a bairn her deceiving.”
In the dark pool's peace believing?
I fear you've been listening to flattering Hope,
And bear like a bairn her deceiving.”
“Oh! little ye ken, bonnie bird,” I said,
“The strength of a human longing,
When sleep-reiving cares on a ruthless raid
Are round his pillow thronging;
“The strength of a human longing,
When sleep-reiving cares on a ruthless raid
Are round his pillow thronging;
“And little ye ken how he longs for peace,
When the future gives no token
That the bark of life will from heaving cease
Till the anchor-chain is broken.
When the future gives no token
That the bark of life will from heaving cease
Till the anchor-chain is broken.
“Ye hae nae been fretting 'neath sorrow's rule,
Nor vigils with care been keeping,
And ken nae how sweet is the tranquil pool,
Wi' peace in its bosom sleeping.”
Nor vigils with care been keeping,
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Wi' peace in its bosom sleeping.”
“Gang hame to your bairns,” said the little bird,
“And the wife that waits and wearies,
And blush if nae sweeter thoughts are stirred
By the glee o' your lisping dearies.
“And the wife that waits and wearies,
And blush if nae sweeter thoughts are stirred
By the glee o' your lisping dearies.
“Gang hame to your bairns,” said the scornful bird,
“And as you're hameward faring,
Observe the poor in yon rows that herd,
Your lot with theirs comparing.
“And as you're hameward faring,
Observe the poor in yon rows that herd,
Your lot with theirs comparing.
“There children in squalid rags you'll meet,
The breath of Boreas scorning,
While leaving the print of their naked feet
In the snow of the winter morning;
The breath of Boreas scorning,
While leaving the print of their naked feet
In the snow of the winter morning;
“And Hope with their fathers and mothers has been,
With tales of bliss deceiving;
But none on yon tempting cliff are seen,
In the dark pool's peace believing.”
With tales of bliss deceiving;
But none on yon tempting cliff are seen,
In the dark pool's peace believing.”
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“And what are their troubles, O bird! to me,
But danger-beacons burning?
I fear them as landsmen fear at sea
The weathered gale's returning.
But danger-beacons burning?
I fear them as landsmen fear at sea
The weathered gale's returning.
“I saw in the starlight a shadow gaunt,
And as the day grows clearer,
I fear 'tis the form of the giant Want
That's slowly drawing nearer:
And as the day grows clearer,
I fear 'tis the form of the giant Want
That's slowly drawing nearer:
“I knew him of old, and I fear his rule—
How grandly the linn is leaping!—
Sweet bird, let me pass to the tranquil pool,
With peace in its bosom sleeping.”
How grandly the linn is leaping!—
Sweet bird, let me pass to the tranquil pool,
With peace in its bosom sleeping.”
So on to the cliff with the brow of broom,
The tortuous path I wended,
And me far up in the “scattering gloom”
The little bird attended.
The tortuous path I wended,
And me far up in the “scattering gloom”
The little bird attended.
But the linn now fell with a sullen roar,
That seemed of the angry ocean,
And the once still pool was trembling o'er
With an eerily-glimmering motion.
That seemed of the angry ocean,
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With an eerily-glimmering motion.
There Peace, no more like a spirit bright,
Me down to her breast seemed wooing;
But a writing in fire was the ripple-light,
And the written word was “Ruin.”
Me down to her breast seemed wooing;
But a writing in fire was the ripple-light,
And the written word was “Ruin.”
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