 | Lyrical Poems |  |
214
THE WEE HERD LADDIE.
—The hero of this little descriptive song is Sir Andrew Halliday, a native of Annandale, to the poetical aspect of whose character I was introduced by Dr Carlyle, when hospitably entertained by him in his snug little cell near Ecclefechan. About Sir Andrew's youth, see particularly “Poems by John Johnstone. Edinburgh, 1857;” a little work containing some interesting notices of Scottish peasant life, in the latter half of the last century.
Little Andrew, lively Andrew,
Herding of the kine,
Looking 'neath thy curly locks
Wi' bright and merry eyne!
Stretched upon a furzy brae,
Wi' bonnet, plaid, and crook,
What should a wee herd laddie do
Wi' a Greek and Latin book?
Herding of the kine,
Looking 'neath thy curly locks
Wi' bright and merry eyne!
Stretched upon a furzy brae,
Wi' bonnet, plaid, and crook,
What should a wee herd laddie do
Wi' a Greek and Latin book?
There's mony a thought in Andrew's head;
His fancy freely wanders
North and South, and East and West,
And still he reads and ponders.
There's something brewing in his brain;
Beneath his plain grey plaidie,
Adventures beat in every vein
O' the wee bare-footed laddie.
His fancy freely wanders
North and South, and East and West,
And still he reads and ponders.
There's something brewing in his brain;
Beneath his plain grey plaidie,
215
O' the wee bare-footed laddie.
And what's become of Andrew now?
I hear he's gone to college;
He saved a penny in the hills,
To pay his fees of knowledge.
And Andrew now is Doctor hight,
And now the leech is gone,
To serve their need who bravely bleed
In Spain with Wellington.
I hear he's gone to college;
He saved a penny in the hills,
To pay his fees of knowledge.
And Andrew now is Doctor hight,
And now the leech is gone,
To serve their need who bravely bleed
In Spain with Wellington.
And Andrew's now a man of proof.
At sacred Duty's call
Brave Andrew never stands aloof;
On him hang great and small.
And now he's come from Waterloo,
Wi' the Duke that ruled the wars,
And they, who know his service true,
Have gemmed his breast wi' stars.
At sacred Duty's call
Brave Andrew never stands aloof;
On him hang great and small.
And now he's come from Waterloo,
Wi' the Duke that ruled the wars,
And they, who know his service true,
Have gemmed his breast wi' stars.
And now he's grown a belted knight,
The wee bare-footed laddie,
Wi' heart as pure and eye as bright
As when he wore the plaidie.
The mightiest Duke in a' the land
Who scorns a wee herd laddie,
Now shakes “Sir Andrew” by the hand—
The knight that wore the plaidie!
The wee bare-footed laddie,
Wi' heart as pure and eye as bright
As when he wore the plaidie.
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Who scorns a wee herd laddie,
Now shakes “Sir Andrew” by the hand—
The knight that wore the plaidie!
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