Lyrical Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Davie was a quiet boy,
Hating every boisterous joy,
Slow of tongue, of temper slow,
Never first a stone to throw.
On the moor would sit alone,
Brooding on an old grey stone,
Or, wandering with a drooping head,
Pluck butterworts from oozy bed;

Surely there is something odd,
All the people say, in Davie!
Dreaming Davie! dandering Davie!
What's in Davie we shall see.

Listless, sitting in the school
Master called him dreamy fool;
Flies and spiders, buzzing gnats,
Rabbits, ferrets, newts, and bats,

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Twittering swallows, cawing rooks,
All had charms for him but books;
Greeks and Romans long since dead
Were never meant for Davie's head.

Surely there is something odd,
People say, about this Davie!
Dreaming Davie! dandering Davie!
What's in Davie we shall see.

Davie's left the school—and lo!
Davie roaming now will go;
Probes the nooks of every glen,
Scales the peaks of every Ben.
In the sunshine, in the shower,
Now a rock, and now a flower,
Peering round with knowing eyes,
Davie always finds a prize,

Surely this is very odd,
People say—Can this be Davie?
Once so dreaming, now so scheming,
Full of teeming plans is he.

Davie now has wandered far,
In lands beneath the burning star,

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Dredged the floor of every sea,
Where strange finny monsters be,
Crossed, by airy bamboo bridge,
Clefts that part hoar Andes' ridge,
Scaled Mont Blanc, and tented high
On rosy snow, 'twixt Earth and sky.

Surely this is very odd,
People say—Can this be Davie?
Daring Davie! dauntless Davie!
Full of grand success is he.

In the list of men who know,
Europe now no name can show
Like to Davie's; Earth contains
Nought that's not in Davie's brains.
Prince Albert and the Queen, I'm told,
Hear Davie wisdom's stores unfold,
Though the master in the school
Called him little dreaming fool.

Now men say, 'tis nothing odd
He should have been a dreaming Davie!
Well done, Davie! just so, Davie!
Dreams beget great deeds, we see!