Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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Kilbride Kirk's most Sincere Thanks
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
147
Kilbride Kirk's most Sincere Thanks
TO THE HERITORS AND OTHERS WHO CONTRIBUTED SO LIBERALLY TO HER RECENT REPAIRS.
Ye wha ha'e tholed the burnin' pain
O' stan'in' in the Pass alane,
Wi' thumpin' heart, and reelin' brain,
And sweatin' face,
Ken something o' the life I've haen
O' fell disgrace.
O' stan'in' in the Pass alane,
Wi' thumpin' heart, and reelin' brain,
And sweatin' face,
Ken something o' the life I've haen
O' fell disgrace.
For five and forty years I've borne
The country's spitefu' jeers and scorn;
Wi' burnin' wrath lang inly torn,
I've lain in scandal,
Despised like vagrant Jew forlorn,
Or plund'rin' Vandal.
The country's spitefu' jeers and scorn;
Wi' burnin' wrath lang inly torn,
I've lain in scandal,
Despised like vagrant Jew forlorn,
Or plund'rin' Vandal.
But now that enmity is gane
By whilk I lang did sigh and grane,
And my proud spire and gilded vane
Triumphant rise,
Since jarring discord now lies slain,
Wi' closed eyes.
By whilk I lang did sigh and grane,
And my proud spire and gilded vane
Triumphant rise,
Since jarring discord now lies slain,
Wi' closed eyes.
Whae'er alive did think to see
Sic reparation wrought on me,
Wham nei'bour kirks, wi' pridefu' e'e,
Spurn'd frae their quorum;
But now I preses sit, fu' spree,
Wi' great decorum.
Sic reparation wrought on me,
Wham nei'bour kirks, wi' pridefu' e'e,
Spurn'd frae their quorum;
But now I preses sit, fu' spree,
Wi' great decorum.
Nae mair shall folk in terror dread
The danger o' a broken head,
Frae Bibles tumblin' doun, like lead
Aff Spoutie's railin',
Aft clourin' crouns wi' spitefu' feid;
To fricht ne'er failin'.
The danger o' a broken head,
Frae Bibles tumblin' doun, like lead
Aff Spoutie's railin',
Aft clourin' crouns wi' spitefu' feid;
To fricht ne'er failin'.
Nae mair shall menseless dogs, wha aft
Held revels on the Muirland laft,
Tak' front seats there—that look'd sae daft
In sic a place;
The braw boun' front keeps tykes abaft
Frae shawin' face.
Held revels on the Muirland laft,
Tak' front seats there—that look'd sae daft
In sic a place;
The braw boun' front keeps tykes abaft
Frae shawin' face.
148
Nor yet shall ony darker stark
Lie gruntin' at the hour o' wark;
But quick maun spring up, like the lark,
When, clean pell-mell,
John waukens sleep, be 't licht or dark,
Wi' 's sax-hour bell.
Lie gruntin' at the hour o' wark;
But quick maun spring up, like the lark,
When, clean pell-mell,
John waukens sleep, be 't licht or dark,
Wi' 's sax-hour bell.
And, blithe, at e'en the joyous soun'
Is heard the country roun' and roun';
Glad news to mony a weary loun
At labour toilin',
Wi' head maist to the grund bow'd doun,
And sweat outboilin'.
Is heard the country roun' and roun';
Glad news to mony a weary loun
At labour toilin',
Wi' head maist to the grund bow'd doun,
And sweat outboilin'.
But waefu' news to alewives fell,
When wabsters bauld and souters snell
Meet owre a dram, their news to tell,
At the week's en',
Is the ungracious curfew bell,
Loud rung at ten.
When wabsters bauld and souters snell
Meet owre a dram, their news to tell,
At the week's en',
Is the ungracious curfew bell,
Loud rung at ten.
For trottin' clocks nae discount's gi'en,
Though to religion's truest frien';
Mine's still the test, at morn and e'en,
Of ony wicht
Wha'd break the holy morn unseen,
When planted richt.
Though to religion's truest frien';
Mine's still the test, at morn and e'en,
Of ony wicht
Wha'd break the holy morn unseen,
When planted richt.
Thanks to you a', wha, blithe and jolly,
Ha'e hearts unkenn'd to melancholy,
Wha left the beaten track o' folly
And raised my spire,
While faes out vented mony a volley
O' oaths, in ire.
Ha'e hearts unkenn'd to melancholy,
Wha left the beaten track o' folly
And raised my spire,
While faes out vented mony a volley
O' oaths, in ire.
And my best wishes unto you
Wha ranged the toun and country through
To raise a clock and dials too,
For use and beauty;
Ye were still eident, stainch, and true
To this your duty.
Wha ranged the toun and country through
To raise a clock and dials too,
For use and beauty;
Ye were still eident, stainch, and true
To this your duty.
Nae mair dare bards satiric banter
My saul 'bout ellwand-steepled Blantyre;
I'll learn the Muse to blaw her chanter
To ither airs;
I've play'd my nei'bours a mishanter
Ilk ane declares.
My saul 'bout ellwand-steepled Blantyre;
149
To ither airs;
I've play'd my nei'bours a mishanter
Ilk ane declares.
Frae Logoch muirs to banks o' Clyde
My bell resounds thus far and wide;
Our bonnet-lairds, sae fu' o' pride,
Fu' crouse may craw,
And owre the Mearns' nabs vogie ride,
And taunt them a'.
My bell resounds thus far and wide;
Our bonnet-lairds, sae fu' o' pride,
Fu' crouse may craw,
And owre the Mearns' nabs vogie ride,
And taunt them a'.
For mony a time, at their fell jeerin',
Our esquires ha'e been set a-swearin',
And claes frae aff their backs been tearin',
In change-house wars;
But wi' my gawdy steeple's rearin'
Has fled sic jars.
Our esquires ha'e been set a-swearin',
And claes frae aff their backs been tearin',
In change-house wars;
But wi' my gawdy steeple's rearin'
Has fled sic jars.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |