Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] A New Edition with Illustrations by A. S. Boyd |
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Hughie seeks to console a Brother Shepherd,
over-grieving for the Loss of his Son. |
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 | Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |  |
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Hughie seeks to console a Brother Shepherd, over-grieving for the Loss of his Son.
“Non semper imbres.”
—Car. ii. 9.
—Car. ii. 9.
It's no' aye rainin' on the misty Achils,
It's no' aye white wi' winter on Nigour;
The winds are no' sae mony sorrowin' Rachels,
That grieve, and o' their grief will no' gie owre.
It's no' aye white wi' winter on Nigour;
The winds are no' sae mony sorrowin' Rachels,
That grieve, and o' their grief will no' gie owre.
Dark are Benarty slopes, an' the steep Lomon'
Flings a lang shadow on the watter plain;
But fair Lochleven's no' for ever gloomin',
An' Devon's no' aye dark wi' Lammas rain.
Flings a lang shadow on the watter plain;
But fair Lochleven's no' for ever gloomin',
An' Devon's no' aye dark wi' Lammas rain.
The birks tho' bare, an' the sune-naked ashes,
Not always widow'd of their leaves appear;
The oaks cry oot beneath November's lashes,
But not for all the months that mak' the year.
Not always widow'd of their leaves appear;
The oaks cry oot beneath November's lashes,
But not for all the months that mak' the year.
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Comes round a time, comes round at last tho' creepin',
And green and glad again stand buss an' tree;
E'en tender gowans, thro' the young gress peepin',
Rise in their weakness, and owre-rin the lea.
And green and glad again stand buss an' tree;
E'en tender gowans, thro' the young gress peepin',
Rise in their weakness, and owre-rin the lea.
Thus Nature sorrows, and forgets her sorrow;
And Reason soberly approves her way:
Why should we shut oor een against to-morrow
Because our sky was clouded yesterday?
And Reason soberly approves her way:
Why should we shut oor een against to-morrow
Because our sky was clouded yesterday?
Dear Adie!—for we've lang kent ane anither,
Tendin' oor flocks upon the selfsame hill,
And if I speak as brither should to brither,
Ye'll neither turn awa' nor tak' it ill,—
Tendin' oor flocks upon the selfsame hill,
And if I speak as brither should to brither,
Ye'll neither turn awa' nor tak' it ill,—
It's now three year since little Adie left us:
He was, to every ane that kenn'd him, dear:
Adam! it was the will of God bereft us,
Call'd him away, and left the lave o's here.
He was, to every ane that kenn'd him, dear:
Adam! it was the will of God bereft us,
Call'd him away, and left the lave o's here.
Three years ye've sorrow'd for the little laddie;
It clouds your broo, I hear it when ye speak;
And thrice I've seen, when ithers sawna, Adie,
The sudden tear upon your wasted cheek.
It clouds your broo, I hear it when ye speak;
And thrice I've seen, when ithers sawna, Adie,
The sudden tear upon your wasted cheek.
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Ye nurse your sorrow in the cheerfu' morning,
Ye nurse it, too, at unavailing eve;
Our rustic gatherings, with a silent scorning,
And all our rural sports and joys ye leave.
Ye nurse it, too, at unavailing eve;
Our rustic gatherings, with a silent scorning,
And all our rural sports and joys ye leave.
Sorrow is sacred, but this sair insistance,
This lang refusal to Heaven's will to boo,
Consider, Adie; is't a wise resistance?
You'll go to him, he canna come to you.
This lang refusal to Heaven's will to boo,
Consider, Adie; is't a wise resistance?
You'll go to him, he canna come to you.
And, since you go to meet him, go not sadly,
For the short half o' life that yet remains:
You love your son—go then to meet him gladly
On that appointed day which Heaven ordains.
For the short half o' life that yet remains:
You love your son—go then to meet him gladly
On that appointed day which Heaven ordains.
| Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] | |