 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
THE DRUNKARD TO HIS BOTTLE
Ye thievin' curse! I dinna care
About ye're unco prisence mair,
Since ye hae gi'en to ruin sair,
Baith wealth an' credit;
An' now to shun yere awsome snare,
My vow I've made it.
About ye're unco prisence mair,
Since ye hae gi'en to ruin sair,
Baith wealth an' credit;
An' now to shun yere awsome snare,
My vow I've made it.
[OMITTED]
Nane ither than auld Hornie sent ye
Before my path i' hopes to get me,
An' wae's the hour I ever met ye,
Ye cheild o' ruin—
E'en now despair an' portith wait me,
By your ill-doin'.
Before my path i' hopes to get me,
An' wae's the hour I ever met ye,
Ye cheild o' ruin—
E'en now despair an' portith wait me,
By your ill-doin'.
[OMITTED]
168
An' here's an end to midnight riot—
To reelin' gait, an' pulse unquiet;
Their awsome cause I winna try it,
Wi' frien' or foe;
But e'en as frae auld Cootie, fly it,
Where'er I go.
To reelin' gait, an' pulse unquiet;
Their awsome cause I winna try it,
Wi' frien' or foe;
But e'en as frae auld Cootie, fly it,
Where'er I go.
Stanzas 1, 3, 6 Haverhill Gazette, January 19, 1828
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |