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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THE DISCONSOLATE WREN. |
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| III. |
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 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
THE DISCONSOLATE WREN.
“Be not the Muse asham'd here to bemoan
Her brothers of the grove.”
—Thomson.
Her brothers of the grove.”
—Thomson.
The morn was keekin' frae the East,
The lav'rocks shrill, wi' dewy breast,
Were tow'ring past my ken;
Alang a burnie's flow'ry side,
That gurgl'd on wi' glancin' glide,
I gain'd a bushy glen;
The circling nets ilk spider weaves
Bent, wi' clear dew-drops hung;
A' roun' amang the spreading leaves,
The cheary natives sung;
On'ts journey, the burnie
Fell dashing down some linns;
White foaming, and roaming,
In rage amang the stanes.
The lav'rocks shrill, wi' dewy breast,
Were tow'ring past my ken;
Alang a burnie's flow'ry side,
That gurgl'd on wi' glancin' glide,
I gain'd a bushy glen;
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Bent, wi' clear dew-drops hung;
A' roun' amang the spreading leaves,
The cheary natives sung;
On'ts journey, the burnie
Fell dashing down some linns;
White foaming, and roaming,
In rage amang the stanes.
While on the gowan turf I sat,
And view'd this blissfu' sylvan spat,
Amid the joyous soun';
Some mournfu' chirps, methought, of wae
Stole on my ear frae neath a brae;
Whare, as I glinted down,
I spy'd a bonnie wee bit Wren,
Lone, on a fuggy stane;
An' aye she tore her breast, an' than,
Poor thing, pour'd out her mane;
Sae faintive, sae plaintive,
To hear her vent her strain;
Distrest me, an' prest me
To ken her cause o' pain.
And view'd this blissfu' sylvan spat,
Amid the joyous soun';
Some mournfu' chirps, methought, of wae
Stole on my ear frae neath a brae;
Whare, as I glinted down,
I spy'd a bonnie wee bit Wren,
Lone, on a fuggy stane;
An' aye she tore her breast, an' than,
Poor thing, pour'd out her mane;
Sae faintive, sae plaintive,
To hear her vent her strain;
Distrest me, an' prest me
To ken her cause o' pain.
Down frae a hingan' hazel root,
Wi' easy wing, an' sadly mute,
A social Robin came;
Upon a trem'lin twig he perch'd,
While owre his head the craig was arch'd,
Near han' the hapless dame;
Awee he view'd her sad despair:
Her bitter chirps of wae
Brought frae his e'e the pearly tear,
Whilk owre his breast did gae;
Still eyeing, and spying
Nane near to gi'e relief;
And drooping, and stooping,
He thus enquir'd her grief.
Wi' easy wing, an' sadly mute,
A social Robin came;
Upon a trem'lin twig he perch'd,
While owre his head the craig was arch'd,
Near han' the hapless dame;
Awee he view'd her sad despair:
Her bitter chirps of wae
Brought frae his e'e the pearly tear,
Whilk owre his breast did gae;
Still eyeing, and spying
Nane near to gi'e relief;
And drooping, and stooping,
He thus enquir'd her grief.
15
“What dolefu' ill, alas! what woe
“Gars thee sit mourning here below,
“And rive thy mirley breast?
“Has ony Whitret's direfu' jaws,
“Or greedy Gled's fell squeezing claws,
“Made thy wee lord a feast?
“Or has some callans frae the town,
“While roaring through the shaw;
“Thy wee things, nest an' a', torn down,
“An' borne them far awa?
“My Wrannie, I canna
“Rest till thy waes thou tell;
“For I yet may cry yet
“Wi' siccan griefs mysel'.”
“Gars thee sit mourning here below,
“And rive thy mirley breast?
“Has ony Whitret's direfu' jaws,
“Or greedy Gled's fell squeezing claws,
“Made thy wee lord a feast?
“Or has some callans frae the town,
“While roaring through the shaw;
“Thy wee things, nest an' a', torn down,
“An' borne them far awa?
“My Wrannie, I canna
“Rest till thy waes thou tell;
“For I yet may cry yet
“Wi' siccan griefs mysel'.”
“Och, Rab! my heart will brust in twa;
“Alas! I'm dizzy—O I'll fa!
“My legs, my heart will fail;
“But since ye speer sae kind, my frien',
“An' love like yours is seldom seen,
“I'se tell the dreadfu' tale:
“Aneath yon hingin' brae, as best,
“Soon as the leaves came out;
“Ye ken we joyfu' bug our nest,
“And clos't it a' about,
“Fu' cleanly an' beinly,
“We lin'd it a' wi' down;
“An' neatly an' quietly
“We form'd it snug an' soun'.”
“Alas! I'm dizzy—O I'll fa!
“My legs, my heart will fail;
“But since ye speer sae kind, my frien',
“An' love like yours is seldom seen,
“I'se tell the dreadfu' tale:
“Aneath yon hingin' brae, as best,
“Soon as the leaves came out;
“Ye ken we joyfu' bug our nest,
“And clos't it a' about,
“Fu' cleanly an' beinly,
“We lin'd it a' wi' down;
“An' neatly an' quietly
“We form'd it snug an' soun'.”
“The brae hung owre in bushy height,
“And hade it close frae ony's sight
“That dauner't thro' the glen;
“Nane e'er observ'd us jink within,
“Or ever there for nests did fin,
“'Twas sic a lanely den;
“An' mony a day an' night I sat,
“While my wee Tam did sing;
“Till saxteen bonny things I gat,
“A' hotching 'neath each wing.
“What pleasure, this treasure
“Gied us, I needna' tell;
“Sic pleasures, sic treasures,
“Ye've aft enjoy'd yoursel'.”
“And hade it close frae ony's sight
“That dauner't thro' the glen;
“Nane e'er observ'd us jink within,
“Or ever there for nests did fin,
“'Twas sic a lanely den;
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“While my wee Tam did sing;
“Till saxteen bonny things I gat,
“A' hotching 'neath each wing.
“What pleasure, this treasure
“Gied us, I needna' tell;
“Sic pleasures, sic treasures,
“Ye've aft enjoy'd yoursel'.”
“Soon as the gladsome morning rose,
“I left them row't in warm repose,
“An' thro' the warbling wood,
“'Mang aul' tree-roots an' prickly brier,
“My Tam an' me, withouten fear,
“Rov'd for their wanted food;
“An', oh! what transports swell'd my breast,
“At night, when I survey'd
“A' safe an' weel about our nest,
“An' them quiet feath'rin' laid!”
“Och! Robin—this sobbin'
“Forgie, for to the scenes
“I draw now, that gnaw now,
“My heart wi' wringing pains.
“I left them row't in warm repose,
“An' thro' the warbling wood,
“'Mang aul' tree-roots an' prickly brier,
“My Tam an' me, withouten fear,
“Rov'd for their wanted food;
“An', oh! what transports swell'd my breast,
“At night, when I survey'd
“A' safe an' weel about our nest,
“An' them quiet feath'rin' laid!”
“Och! Robin—this sobbin'
“Forgie, for to the scenes
“I draw now, that gnaw now,
“My heart wi' wringing pains.
“This morn, as soon as it grew light,
“Baith thro' the glen we took our flight,
“An' soon my neb I fill'd;
“Some dreadfu' hurling noise I heard,
“An' pale forebodings made me fear'd,
“That a' my hopes were kill'd.
“I flighter't hame; but, och! dread scene!
“Whose horror crush'd my breath;
“The brae had fa'n huge to the plain,
“An dash'd them a' to death:
“Ye heavens, my grievings
“You might have ceas'd to flow;
“Me crashing, and dashing
“With them to shades below.”
“Baith thro' the glen we took our flight,
“An' soon my neb I fill'd;
“Some dreadfu' hurling noise I heard,
“An' pale forebodings made me fear'd,
“That a' my hopes were kill'd.
“I flighter't hame; but, och! dread scene!
“Whose horror crush'd my breath;
“The brae had fa'n huge to the plain,
“An dash'd them a' to death:
“Ye heavens, my grievings
“You might have ceas'd to flow;
“Me crashing, and dashing
“With them to shades below.”
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“Nae mair I'll thro' the valley flee,
“And gather worms wi' blissfu' glee,
“To feed my chirping young;
“Nae mair wi' Tam himsel' I'll rove,
“Nor shall e'er joy throughout the grove,
“Flow frae my wretched tongue;
“But lanely, lanely, aye I'll hap,
“'Mang auld stane-dykes an' braes;
“Till some ane roar down on my tap,
“An' end my joyless days.”
So, lowly and slowly,
Araise the hapless Wren;
While crying and sighing,
Remurmur'd through the Glen.
“And gather worms wi' blissfu' glee,
“To feed my chirping young;
“Nae mair wi' Tam himsel' I'll rove,
“Nor shall e'er joy throughout the grove,
“Flow frae my wretched tongue;
“But lanely, lanely, aye I'll hap,
“'Mang auld stane-dykes an' braes;
“Till some ane roar down on my tap,
“An' end my joyless days.”
So, lowly and slowly,
Araise the hapless Wren;
While crying and sighing,
Remurmur'd through the Glen.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |