Rhymes and Recollections of a Hand-Loom Weaver :: :: University of Virginia Library

[An ancestor of JAMES ADAM GORDON, Esq., the present Laird of Knockespock, about a century and a half ago, in a second marriage had taken to wife the lovely Jean Leith of Harthill. His affectionate lady watched the chamber of her sick husband by day and by night, and would not divide her care with any one. Worn out and wasted from continual attendance on him, she fell into a sleep, and was awakened only by the smoke and flames of their burning mansion; the menials had fled—the doom of the dying laird and his lady seemed fixed. In her heroic affection she bore her husband from the burning house, laid him in a sheltered spot, and forced her way back to the tottering stair, through the very flames, for “plaids to wrap him in.”]

Ae wastefu' howl o'er earth an' sea,
Nae gleam o' heaven's licht
Might mark the bounds o' Benachie
That black and starless nicht.
Siclike the nicht, siclike the hour,
Siclike the wae they ken,
Wha watch till those lov'd eyes shall close
That ne'er may ope again.

As gin to tak' the last lang look,
He raised a lichtless e'e;
Now list, oh, thou, his lady wife,
Knockespock speaks to thee!
“Sit doun, my Jeanie Gordoun love,
Sit doun an' haud my head;
There's sic a lowe beneath my brow
Maun soon, soon be my dead.

“Aye whaur ye find the stoun, oh, Jean!
Press tae your kindly hand;
I wadna gi'e ae breath o' thee
For a' else on my land.
Your couthie word dreeps medicine,
Your very touch can heal;
An', oh, your e'e does mair for me
Than a' our doctor's skill!”

She leant athwart his burnin' brow,
Her tears lap lichtly doun;
Beneath her saft, saft, dautin' hand
Knockespock sleepit soun'.

For woman's watch is holiness—
In woman's heart, sae rare,
When a' the warld is cauld an' dark,
There's licht an' litheness there!

What's yon that tints the deep dark brae,
An' flickers on the green?
It's nae the ray o' morning grey,
Nor yet the bonnie meen!
Drumminor's bloody Ha' is bright,
Kildrummie's sna' tower clear,
An' Noth's black Tap ca's back the licht
To gowden Dunnideer.

Yon gleed o'er fast and fiercely glows,
For licht o' livin' star,
An' lo! it marks wi' giant brows,
The murky woods o' Mar.
The drowsy deer is fain to flee,
Beyond Black Arthur's hicht;
An' birdies lift a timorous e'e,
To yon ill-bodin' licht.

Whaur Bogie flows, and Huntly shows
On high its lettered wa's;
An' westward far on Cabrach's breast,
The ruddy glimmerin' fa's.
Whaur monie a Forbes and Gordoun sleeps,
On Tillyangus deein';
An' Mar's road sweeps, 'mid their cairn's grey heaps,
The fiery flakes are fleein'.

An' aye the flare that reddens there,
Knockespock weel may rue;
Nor Gadie's stream can dit the gleam
That wraps his dwallin' noo.
Yet woman's love, Oh, woman's love!
The wide unmeasured sea
Is nae so deep as woman's love,
As her sweet sympathy!

Upon the wet an' windy sward
She wadna lat him down,
But wiled an' wiled the lithest beild
Wi' breckans happet roun'.
Knockespock's cauld, he's deadly cauld—
Whaur has his lady gane!
How has she left him trembling there,
A' trembling there alane?

An' has she gane for feckless gowd,
To tempt yon fearfu' lowe?
Or is her fair mind, wreck'd an' wrang,
Forgane its guidance now?
She fearless speels the reekin' tow'r,
Tho' red, red is the wa',
An' braves the deaf'nin' din an' stour,
Whaur cracklin' rafters fa'.

It is na gowd, nor gallant robes,
Gars Jeanie Gordoun rin;
But she has wiled the saftest plaids
To wrap her leal lord in.

For woman's heart is tenderness,
Yet woman weel may dare
The deftest deed, an' tremble nane,
Gin true love be her care.

“The lowe has scaith'd your locks, my Jean,
An' scorch'd your bonnie brow;
The graceless flame consumes our hame—
What thinks my lady now?”
“My locks will grow again, my love,
My broken brow will men',
Your kindly breast's the lealest hame
That I can ever ken;

“But, Oh, that waesome look o' thine,
Knockespock, I wad gi'e
The livin' heart frae out my breast
For aught to pleasure thee!”
Weel, woman's heart! ay, woman's heart!
There grows a something there,
The sweetest flower on bank or bower
Maun nane wi' that compare.