The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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RABBY'S MISTAKE,
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
RABBY'S MISTAKE,
A TRUE STORY.
Short is the far'est fouk can see,
Yet unco wary we shou'd be,
To leuk before we loup;
Nor e'er, in huth'ron haste, advance,
Or we'll rin mony a narrow chance,
In black mistaks to coup.
Yet unco wary we shou'd be,
To leuk before we loup;
Nor e'er, in huth'ron haste, advance,
Or we'll rin mony a narrow chance,
In black mistaks to coup.
Ae ca'm, blae, bitter frosty day,
When deep the glisterin' snaw-wreathes lay
Aboon ilk moor an' fiel',
An' owre the Loch's clear frozen face,
On skytchers thrang, in airy chase,
Flew mony a cheery chiel.
When deep the glisterin' snaw-wreathes lay
Aboon ilk moor an' fiel',
An' owre the Loch's clear frozen face,
On skytchers thrang, in airy chase,
Flew mony a cheery chiel.
Far aff the curlers' roaring rink,
Re-echo'd loud, wi' noisy clink
O' stanes and besoms rappin';
Doos flighter't thro' amang the stacks,
An' craws upo' the toll-road tracts,
In hungry mood were happin'.
Re-echo'd loud, wi' noisy clink
O' stanes and besoms rappin';
Doos flighter't thro' amang the stacks,
An' craws upo' the toll-road tracts,
In hungry mood were happin'.
41
Sic was the day, whan san'-blin' Rab,
Arm'd wi' a gun like ony stab,
An' pocks o' lead an' pouther,
Set out in eager search for game,
Resolv'd to bring a maukin hame
In triumph, owre his shouther.
Arm'd wi' a gun like ony stab,
An' pocks o' lead an' pouther,
Set out in eager search for game,
Resolv'd to bring a maukin hame
In triumph, owre his shouther.
Nae snifterin' dog had he, I wat,
To air't him to the lanely spat
Whare ony creature lay;
Tho' scarce twa tether-length his e'en
Cou'd ken a midding by a green,
Yet on he push'd his way.
To air't him to the lanely spat
Whare ony creature lay;
Tho' scarce twa tether-length his e'en
Cou'd ken a midding by a green,
Yet on he push'd his way.
Alangst the drifted crumpin' knowes,
A' roun' his glimmerin' een he rowes,
For hares, or bits o' burdies;
Aft taking ilka stane he saw,
Bare rais'd aboon the glistering snaw,
For pussey's crouchin' hurdies.
A' roun' his glimmerin' een he rowes,
For hares, or bits o' burdies;
Aft taking ilka stane he saw,
Bare rais'd aboon the glistering snaw,
For pussey's crouchin' hurdies.
Down thro' the Glen between twa trees,
At length sly glowrin' Rabby sees
A hare amang the bushes;
He chaps the flint—leans on a stump,
Aff gaed the shot wi' thunerin' thump,
An' after't Rabby rushes.
At length sly glowrin' Rabby sees
A hare amang the bushes;
He chaps the flint—leans on a stump,
Aff gaed the shot wi' thunerin' thump,
An' after't Rabby rushes.
But when he saw (guide's! how he stood!)
His ain sow weltering in her blude,
An' sticks in anguish tearing!
Her deean squeels maist rung him deaf,
He hung his head in silent grief,
And wander'd hamewards swearing.
His ain sow weltering in her blude,
An' sticks in anguish tearing!
Her deean squeels maist rung him deaf,
He hung his head in silent grief,
And wander'd hamewards swearing.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |