 | Annie Weir and Other Poems |  |
31
THE FIRST GUID DAY.
It is the showery April;—
The spring-time has begun,
And o' the comin' summer
There's a promise in the wun'.
The hawthorn buds are burstin',
The birds in chorus gay
A hymn o' thanks are warblin',
For the first guid day.
The breeze is warm and westlin',
The firs sae saftly rustlin',
To doves among them nestlin',
Say, “Winter's passed away;”
While clouds o' downy lightness
Float on in snowy whiteness,
As if to aid the brightness
O' the first guid day.
The spring-time has begun,
And o' the comin' summer
There's a promise in the wun'.
The hawthorn buds are burstin',
The birds in chorus gay
A hymn o' thanks are warblin',
For the first guid day.
The breeze is warm and westlin',
The firs sae saftly rustlin',
To doves among them nestlin',
Say, “Winter's passed away;”
While clouds o' downy lightness
Float on in snowy whiteness,
As if to aid the brightness
O' the first guid day.
32
It is the herald April;—
The farmer looks abroad,
And thinks how such a sunshine
Will dry the wettest clod.
Stour-cluds he sees in fancy
Ahint his harrows play,
While dreams o' wealth are whispered
By the first guid day.
And see by yonder plantin',
Athort the lea-rigs rantin',
Wi' tails in air tossed, wanton,
His stirks leap jauntily.
And why are they sae canty
While grass is yet sae scanty?
They feel the coming plenty
In the first guid day.
The farmer looks abroad,
And thinks how such a sunshine
Will dry the wettest clod.
Stour-cluds he sees in fancy
Ahint his harrows play,
While dreams o' wealth are whispered
By the first guid day.
And see by yonder plantin',
Athort the lea-rigs rantin',
Wi' tails in air tossed, wanton,
His stirks leap jauntily.
And why are they sae canty
While grass is yet sae scanty?
They feel the coming plenty
In the first guid day.
It is the buddy April;—
The roads wi' bairns are thrang,
Whase fairy glee is bursting
In rude and rapturous sang:
Ilk little face, but lately
Sae joyless and sae blae,
Is wreathed wi' smiles and roses
On the first guid day.
And hark! that gentle hummin',
Frae yonder cottage comin',
Is it the careless thrummin'
O' fingers skilled to play?
Oh, no! it is the singin'
O' bees around it wingin',
The gladsome tidings bringin'
O' the first guid day.
The roads wi' bairns are thrang,
Whase fairy glee is bursting
In rude and rapturous sang:
33
Sae joyless and sae blae,
Is wreathed wi' smiles and roses
On the first guid day.
And hark! that gentle hummin',
Frae yonder cottage comin',
Is it the careless thrummin'
O' fingers skilled to play?
Oh, no! it is the singin'
O' bees around it wingin',
The gladsome tidings bringin'
O' the first guid day.
It is the joyous April;—
We feel—we kenna hoo—
As if the world were better,
And our lease o' life were new.
Our hearts are beating lightly,
And on life's brambly brae
The upward path seems smoother,
On the first guid day.
The lark on wings untirin',
To reach the lift aspirin',
The bard below is firin',
To sing a crowning lay.
All nature says, “Be cheery,
O' gladness never weary,
But banish all things eerie
Frae the first guid day.”
We feel—we kenna hoo—
As if the world were better,
And our lease o' life were new.
Our hearts are beating lightly,
And on life's brambly brae
The upward path seems smoother,
On the first guid day.
34
To reach the lift aspirin',
The bard below is firin',
To sing a crowning lay.
All nature says, “Be cheery,
O' gladness never weary,
But banish all things eerie
Frae the first guid day.”
| Annie Weir and Other Poems | |