 | Annie Weir and Other Poems |  |
191
A RAMBLE.
While gloaming grey on dell and brae
Wi' dripping wing is settling doun,
Beside the flowers o' yesterday
I set me doon a sang to croon.
Wi' happy friends I climb again
The whinny knowes sae blithely ranged,
And wi' them pu', wi' heart fu' fain,
Thae floral gems sae sadly changed.
Wi' dripping wing is settling doun,
Beside the flowers o' yesterday
I set me doon a sang to croon.
Wi' happy friends I climb again
The whinny knowes sae blithely ranged,
And wi' them pu', wi' heart fu' fain,
Thae floral gems sae sadly changed.
Frae hazel bower to steal that flower
Wi' emerald leaf and gouden cup,
Through scroggy gill, by tricklin' rill,
Wi' boyhood's glee we scramble up.
Our feet are on the hallowed hills,
Whare bards hae strayed and heroes striven;
The hymn o' streams and laverocks seems
An echo o' the hymn o' heaven.
Wi' emerald leaf and gouden cup,
Through scroggy gill, by tricklin' rill,
Wi' boyhood's glee we scramble up.
Our feet are on the hallowed hills,
Whare bards hae strayed and heroes striven;
192
An echo o' the hymn o' heaven.
What joy to hear the tit-larks near,
In slae-thorn brake whare nane we see,
Whare linties chant, and goldies haunt,
And hermit foxgloves feast the bee;
Though blossomed hawthorns are nae seen,
Nor trees festooned wi' woodbine sweet,
Here's lady's-mantle gouden-green,
And balmy thyme blooms 'mang our feet.
In slae-thorn brake whare nane we see,
Whare linties chant, and goldies haunt,
And hermit foxgloves feast the bee;
Though blossomed hawthorns are nae seen,
Nor trees festooned wi' woodbine sweet,
Here's lady's-mantle gouden-green,
And balmy thyme blooms 'mang our feet.
Wi' gratefu' e'e mouse-peas we see
Adorn the dykes wi' tufts o' blue;
Wi' mosses rare, and speedwells fair,
And gracefu' ferns, our hauns are fu'.
Wha says that we're wi' slavery cursed?
It is nae true—it ne'er was true;
When flowers sae fair auld Nature nursed,
They ne'er were meant for slaves to pu'.
Adorn the dykes wi' tufts o' blue;
Wi' mosses rare, and speedwells fair,
And gracefu' ferns, our hauns are fu'.
Wha says that we're wi' slavery cursed?
It is nae true—it ne'er was true;
When flowers sae fair auld Nature nursed,
They ne'er were meant for slaves to pu'.
193
And noo our downward course we wend—
The loch's in view! the loch's in view!
The waters gleam! the heron's scream
Comes harsh the hazy distance through.
Amang yon knowes, through mazy links,
The Lavern glides wi' dimpling smile,
Syne owre the braes, wi' hasty jinks,
Trips blithely wimpling doun to toil.
The loch's in view! the loch's in view!
The waters gleam! the heron's scream
Comes harsh the hazy distance through.
Amang yon knowes, through mazy links,
The Lavern glides wi' dimpling smile,
Syne owre the braes, wi' hasty jinks,
Trips blithely wimpling doun to toil.
See Raggit Robin owre the bent,
His bonnet waves in rosy pride;
Has Flora for our pleasure sprent
The balmy, breezy, cool loch-side?
See, as the ripple shoreward streams,
And moves the reeds wi' gentle lave,
Each distant wave a sea-bird seems,
Each distant floating bird a wave!
His bonnet waves in rosy pride;
Has Flora for our pleasure sprent
The balmy, breezy, cool loch-side?
See, as the ripple shoreward streams,
And moves the reeds wi' gentle lave,
Each distant wave a sea-bird seems,
Each distant floating bird a wave!
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