The poetical works of William Nicholson With a memoir by Malcolm M'L. Harper ... Fourth edition |
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ON FICKLENESS. |
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 | The poetical works of William Nicholson |  |
136
ON FICKLENESS.
Say, what a captious creature's man,
That's never near contented?
Let fortune favour a' she can,
Yet still there's something wanted.
Whate'er we ha'e we soon despise,
Be't lasses, lair, or money;
While what we want we highly prize,
And think it gude and bonny—
While unpossessed.
That's never near contented?
Let fortune favour a' she can,
Yet still there's something wanted.
Whate'er we ha'e we soon despise,
Be't lasses, lair, or money;
While what we want we highly prize,
And think it gude and bonny—
While unpossessed.
The beggar, free frae tax and charge,
Sighs for a house and haddin';
The cotter wants his yard made large,
An's o' a mailin bodin'.
There's jobber John, the donsie man,
Wha's daughter's nearly ready,
Thinks by her shine o' pauky e'en,
She'll catch some landed body,
Or priest some day.
Sighs for a house and haddin';
The cotter wants his yard made large,
An's o' a mailin bodin'.
There's jobber John, the donsie man,
Wha's daughter's nearly ready,
Thinks by her shine o' pauky e'en,
She'll catch some landed body,
Or priest some day.
The farmer e'es the stately ha',
Forgets his stocks and barns;
The lairdy langs for titles braw,
For ribbons and for starns:
The Knight a seat—the Lord his Grace;
The Duke envies the crown;
The king the happy Shepherd's place—
And thus the wish gaes roun',
Frae side to side.
Forgets his stocks and barns;
The lairdy langs for titles braw,
For ribbons and for starns:
The Knight a seat—the Lord his Grace;
The Duke envies the crown;
The king the happy Shepherd's place—
And thus the wish gaes roun',
Frae side to side.
137
See Sawney, in his youthfu' days,
When first he sighed for Sarah;
He walks, he gaunts, he groans, he prays,
He pines wi' love and sorrow;
When harvest days turned dreigh and warm,
'Twas then they first fell gracious;
He mawed her rig wi' manfu' arm,
Till like a brose his face was,
Wi' sweat that day.
When first he sighed for Sarah;
He walks, he gaunts, he groans, he prays,
He pines wi' love and sorrow;
When harvest days turned dreigh and warm,
'Twas then they first fell gracious;
He mawed her rig wi' manfu' arm,
Till like a brose his face was,
Wi' sweat that day.
To pick the prickles frae her han'
To him now's near Elysium;
To plait her locks, or bear her can,
Can never fail to please him;
She was nane o' the scornfu' pack,
Aye bent on feuds or fleein';
But stopt a'e night, and took a crack,
And saved the lad frae deein'
An unco death.
To him now's near Elysium;
To plait her locks, or bear her can,
Can never fail to please him;
She was nane o' the scornfu' pack,
Aye bent on feuds or fleein';
But stopt a'e night, and took a crack,
And saved the lad frae deein'
An unco death.
For her he shook the hasky strae,
And kaved the corn fu' neatly,
And bore her beuk ilk Sabbath day,
To keep her sma' and featly.
O'er every stran' he took her han',
And prest it kin' and slily;
Bore streekit claith aboon her face,
Although the day was drily,
To shield her form.
And kaved the corn fu' neatly,
And bore her beuk ilk Sabbath day,
To keep her sma' and featly.
O'er every stran' he took her han',
And prest it kin' and slily;
Bore streekit claith aboon her face,
Although the day was drily,
To shield her form.
But wha can stop the wind to blaw,
Or keep the cock frae crawin',
Or haud ghaists frae the haunted ha',
Or me frae sleep at dawin'?
Or, wha can tether tide or time,
Or bind the frail affections;
Or stay the weakly waverin' mind,
Wi' a' love's kind connexions,
And tender ties?
Or keep the cock frae crawin',
Or haud ghaists frae the haunted ha',
Or me frae sleep at dawin'?
138
Or bind the frail affections;
Or stay the weakly waverin' mind,
Wi' a' love's kind connexions,
And tender ties?
Soon as the boasted trifle's gane,
That downa thole the namin',
She sighs, and sabs, and greets her lane,
And rues the rede o' gamin'.
Now she pursues, and he forhoos—
The aftercome o't fears her;
And when they meet, nae kisses sweet,
Or hinnied words to cheer her,
Like ance a day.
That downa thole the namin',
She sighs, and sabs, and greets her lane,
And rues the rede o' gamin'.
Now she pursues, and he forhoos—
The aftercome o't fears her;
And when they meet, nae kisses sweet,
Or hinnied words to cheer her,
Like ance a day.
Where's now the rosy red and white,
The matchless form and gesture;
That breast for which his soul has sighed
Or eyes that held him faster?—
The dimples, blushes, smiles, and brows,
Thy outward charms composed;
And ithers, hid frae lovers' views,
But sweeter when disclosed?—
So poets sing.
The matchless form and gesture;
That breast for which his soul has sighed
Or eyes that held him faster?—
The dimples, blushes, smiles, and brows,
Thy outward charms composed;
And ithers, hid frae lovers' views,
But sweeter when disclosed?—
So poets sing.
Hope beets the youthfu' lover's flame;
Enjoyment gars us falter;
The object still remains the same—
'Tis we ourselves do alter.
Let sage Experience point our views,—
It never can deceive us;
But Fancy, wi' her borrowed hues,
Aft in the lurch will leave us,
When reason's shunned.
Enjoyment gars us falter;
The object still remains the same—
'Tis we ourselves do alter.
Let sage Experience point our views,—
It never can deceive us;
But Fancy, wi' her borrowed hues,
Aft in the lurch will leave us,
When reason's shunned.
| The poetical works of William Nicholson | |