The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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Poor Little Jessie.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Poor Little Jessie.
Oh, what gart me greet when I parted wi' Willie,
While at his guid fortune ilk ane was sae fain?
The neighbours upbraidit an' said it was silly,
When I was sae soon to see Willie again.
He gae me his hand as we gaed to the river,
For oh, he was aye a kind brother to me;
Right sair was my heart from my Willie to sever,
An' saut was the dew-drop that smartit my e'e.
While at his guid fortune ilk ane was sae fain?
The neighbours upbraidit an' said it was silly,
When I was sae soon to see Willie again.
He gae me his hand as we gaed to the river,
For oh, he was aye a kind brother to me;
Right sair was my heart from my Willie to sever,
An' saut was the dew-drop that smartit my e'e.
It wasna the kiss that he gae me at parting,
Nor yet the kind squeeze that he gae to my hand;
It wasna the tear frae his blue eye was starting,
As slow they war shoving the boat frae the land:
The tear that I saw owre his bonnie cheek straying,
It pleased me indeed, but it doubled my pain;
For something within me was constantly saying,
“Ah, Jessie, ye'll never see Willie again!”
Nor yet the kind squeeze that he gae to my hand;
It wasna the tear frae his blue eye was starting,
As slow they war shoving the boat frae the land:
The tear that I saw owre his bonnie cheek straying,
It pleased me indeed, but it doubled my pain;
For something within me was constantly saying,
“Ah, Jessie, ye'll never see Willie again!”
The bairn's unco wae to be taen frae its mother,
The wee bird is wae when bereaved o' its young,
But oh, to be reft of a dear only brother—
That feeling can neither be paintit nor sung.
I dreamed a' the night that my Willie was wi' me,
Sae kind to his Jessie, at meeting sae fain,
An' just at the dawning a friend came to see me,
An' taul me I never wad see him again.
The wee bird is wae when bereaved o' its young,
But oh, to be reft of a dear only brother—
That feeling can neither be paintit nor sung.
I dreamed a' the night that my Willie was wi' me,
Sae kind to his Jessie, at meeting sae fain,
An' just at the dawning a friend came to see me,
An' taul me I never wad see him again.
I hae naebody now to look kind an' caress me;
I look for a friend, but nae friend can I see;
I dinna ken what's to become o' poor Jessie,
The warld has little mair pleasure for me.
It's lang sin' I lost baith my father and mother,
I'm simple, an' poor an' forlorn on the way;
I had ane that I likit, an only dear brother,
My Willie—but he's lying cauld i' the clay.
I look for a friend, but nae friend can I see;
I dinna ken what's to become o' poor Jessie,
The warld has little mair pleasure for me.
It's lang sin' I lost baith my father and mother,
I'm simple, an' poor an' forlorn on the way;
I had ane that I likit, an only dear brother,
My Willie—but he's lying cauld i' the clay.
In the first draft the concluding stanza is as follows:—
I hae naebody now to look kind an' caress me;
I look for a friend, but nae friend can I see;
I dinna ken what's to become o' poor Jessie,
Life has nae mair comfort or pleasure for me.
Hard want may oppress me, and sorrow harass me,
But dearest affection shall ever remain,
An' wandering weary this wilderness dreary,
I'll lang for the day that will meet us again.
I look for a friend, but nae friend can I see;
I dinna ken what's to become o' poor Jessie,
Life has nae mair comfort or pleasure for me.
Hard want may oppress me, and sorrow harass me,
But dearest affection shall ever remain,
An' wandering weary this wilderness dreary,
I'll lang for the day that will meet us again.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |