Rhymes and Recollections of a Hand-Loom Weaver By William Thom. Edited, with a Biographical Sketch, by W. Skinner |
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 | Rhymes and Recollections of a Hand-Loom Weaver |  |
'Twas a cauld cauld nicht, and a bauld bauld nicht,
When the mad wind scoured the plain;
An' monie bonnie bush lay streiket and bare,
Drown'd deid in the pelting rain.
The lilac fell a' broken and bent,
Wi' the leafless woodbine torn and rent;
And aye as the storm would swither and swell,
Anither bush brak'—anither bush fell.
A Nettle stood strong in his native mud,
Rank King o'er his native bog;
He withered aye in the clear daylight,
But he fattened aye in the fog.
He stung every flow'ret,—cursed every sweet:
He spared nae the Docken that happit his feet;
For this was the song that the auld Nettle sung,
“Darkness and dung, Beetles, darkness and dung!”
[And the black Beetles chorus it, “Darkness and dung!”]
When the mad wind scoured the plain;
An' monie bonnie bush lay streiket and bare,
Drown'd deid in the pelting rain.
The lilac fell a' broken and bent,
Wi' the leafless woodbine torn and rent;
And aye as the storm would swither and swell,
Anither bush brak'—anither bush fell.
A Nettle stood strong in his native mud,
Rank King o'er his native bog;
He withered aye in the clear daylight,
But he fattened aye in the fog.
He stung every flow'ret,—cursed every sweet:
He spared nae the Docken that happit his feet;
For this was the song that the auld Nettle sung,
“Darkness and dung, Beetles, darkness and dung!”
| Rhymes and Recollections of a Hand-Loom Weaver | |