Poems of Purpose and Sketches in Prose of Scottish Peasant Life and Character in Auld Langsyne, Sketches of Local Scenes and Characters, With a Glossary. By Janet Hamilton |
 |
THE AUL' KIRKYARD. |
 |
|
 | Poems of Purpose and Sketches in Prose |  |
123
THE AUL' KIRKYARD.
The aul' kirkyard!—the aul' kirkyard!—
Its crowdit graves an' mossy stanes;—
I've coft me there a lanely grave,
In whilk I houp to lay my banes.
Its crowdit graves an' mossy stanes;—
I've coft me there a lanely grave,
In whilk I houp to lay my banes.
A rosy brier hings ower the spat,
An' there the mavis bigs her nest:
Ye'll hear her sing at e'en an' morn,
An' see her bonny speckl'd breast.
An' there the mavis bigs her nest:
Ye'll hear her sing at e'en an' morn,
An' see her bonny speckl'd breast.
The shilfa an' the yeldrin there
Mak' simmer haunt, an' hap an' sing
Amang the flow'ry twigs, that ower
The lanely grave their blossoms fling.
Mak' simmer haunt, an' hap an' sing
Amang the flow'ry twigs, that ower
The lanely grave their blossoms fling.
The e'e o' Heaven leuks brichtly doun
Oot thro' the brier on simmer days;
At nicht the sweet an' bonny mune
Sheds doun her mildest, holiest rays.
Oot thro' the brier on simmer days;
At nicht the sweet an' bonny mune
Sheds doun her mildest, holiest rays.
An' there my sainted mither lies—
They laid her 'neath the brier to sleep;
An' I, her wae an' weary bairn,
Maun sune into her bosom creep.
They laid her 'neath the brier to sleep;
An' I, her wae an' weary bairn,
Maun sune into her bosom creep.
124
An' lang an' soun' my sleep shall be;
I'll never wauken till I hear
The trump o' God, that bids the deid
Arise an' at His bar appear.
I'll never wauken till I hear
The trump o' God, that bids the deid
Arise an' at His bar appear.
My he'rt is fu' an' unco sair
At tales o' wrang, an' wrath, an' guilt;
The flesh is creeping on my banes
To hear of a' the bluid that's spilt:
At tales o' wrang, an' wrath, an' guilt;
The flesh is creeping on my banes
To hear of a' the bluid that's spilt:
To think hoo mony sinfu' sauls
Are soopit aff the shores o' life—
Unrepentant, unforgiven—
By burning drink an' bluidy strife.
Are soopit aff the shores o' life—
Unrepentant, unforgiven—
By burning drink an' bluidy strife.
O aul' kirkyard! O aul' kirkyard!
Hoo aft ha'e I, wi' langin' e'en,
Leuk't ower thy moulderin' wa' to see
The grave aneath the brier sae green.
Hoo aft ha'e I, wi' langin' e'en,
Leuk't ower thy moulderin' wa' to see
The grave aneath the brier sae green.
| Poems of Purpose and Sketches in Prose | |