Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] A New Edition with Illustrations by A. S. Boyd |
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Hughie Watches the Growth of the Grain. |
 | Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |  |
196
Hughie Watches the Growth of the Grain.
“Segetis certa fides meæ.”
—Car. iii. 16.
—Car. iii. 16.
The seed was sawn at Hallowmas,
Amang the wind an' weet;
An' sad at heart the farmer was
To fling't amang his feet.
Then blew the bitter frosty wund,
The last leaf left the tree,
An' daisies to the frozen grund
Laid their wee heads to dee.
But there's a kindness owre us a':
Heaven sent its blankets doun,
An', 'neath the covering o' the snaw,
The seed it sleepit soun'.
Amang the wind an' weet;
An' sad at heart the farmer was
To fling't amang his feet.
Then blew the bitter frosty wund,
The last leaf left the tree,
An' daisies to the frozen grund
Laid their wee heads to dee.
But there's a kindness owre us a':
Heaven sent its blankets doun,
An', 'neath the covering o' the snaw,
The seed it sleepit soun'.
An' still it sleepit, deaf an' dumb
As are the kirkyaird dead,
While Boreas threshed his battle-drum,
An' thundered overhead.
Alas! it was the wildest bit
O' a' the widowed year:
Save ghaistly mune, or poacher's fit,
Nae visitor cam' near.
As are the kirkyaird dead,
While Boreas threshed his battle-drum,
An' thundered overhead.
197
O' a' the widowed year:
Save ghaistly mune, or poacher's fit,
Nae visitor cam' near.
At last the time o' life cam' round
Where it lay sleepin' warm,
An' timidly abune the ground
It reached a tiny arm.
It rose; and to the sun so free
Stood shivering like a child,
That, naked on its mother's knee,
Looks round to one that smiled.
Where it lay sleepin' warm,
An' timidly abune the ground
It reached a tiny arm.
It rose; and to the sun so free
Stood shivering like a child,
That, naked on its mother's knee,
Looks round to one that smiled.
But Winter's reign was not yet done;
And skies gat overcast,
And strife across the troubled sun
In fitful tumult past.
The East sent many a withering blight,
The North sent hail an' rain;
Yet still it twinkled to the light,
And, trembling, rose again.
And skies gat overcast,
And strife across the troubled sun
In fitful tumult past.
The East sent many a withering blight,
The North sent hail an' rain;
Yet still it twinkled to the light,
And, trembling, rose again.
198
It seemed endowed wi' many lives
To meet its many foes,
For still, from blasts that nipt like knives
Altho' it shrank, it rose.
And still it braved the Winter's blast,
An' tholed the Winter scorn;
And April kindness kissed at last
The persevering corn!
To meet its many foes,
For still, from blasts that nipt like knives
Altho' it shrank, it rose.
And still it braved the Winter's blast,
An' tholed the Winter scorn;
And April kindness kissed at last
The persevering corn!
An' now a stately stalk it rear'd
That took the farmer's ee;
An' bore a gallant head and beard
That flourished fair to see.
An', rustling, waving, doun the rig
It sported and it sprang;
While swallows glanced abune at tig,
An' laverocks soared an' sang.
Then golden days, an' farmers' praise,
John Barleycorn, were thine;
And lovers' walks, and whispered talks
By moonlight, more divine!
That took the farmer's ee;
An' bore a gallant head and beard
That flourished fair to see.
An', rustling, waving, doun the rig
It sported and it sprang;
While swallows glanced abune at tig,
An' laverocks soared an' sang.
Then golden days, an' farmers' praise,
John Barleycorn, were thine;
And lovers' walks, and whispered talks
By moonlight, more divine!
| Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] | |