Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] A New Edition with Illustrations by A. S. Boyd |
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 | Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] |  |
PREFACE.
In town I walk by this lake-side,
I fish in yonder pool;
In streets I see o'er mountains wide
The morning opening cool.
I fish in yonder pool;
In streets I see o'er mountains wide
The morning opening cool.
Here later fate has cast my lines,
And half my life's been spent;
Yet countryward my heart inclines,
True to its native bent.
And half my life's been spent;
Yet countryward my heart inclines,
True to its native bent.
City, no son of yours am I,
Who bring from boyhood down
The memory of the open sky
And hills and valleys lown.
Who bring from boyhood down
The memory of the open sky
And hills and valleys lown.
In vain your traffic hems me in;
In vain ye grind and bray;
I hear through your discordant din
The plashing of the May;
In vain ye grind and bray;
I hear through your discordant din
The plashing of the May;
The Farg's low treble takes my ear,
And, though long silent, still
With all the boy's delight I hear
The hum of Pottie mill.
And, though long silent, still
With all the boy's delight I hear
The hum of Pottie mill.
In vain your reek, in vain your smeek;
Through't a' I yet discern
The peace that mantles Baigley peak,
The skies that span Strathearn.
Through't a' I yet discern
The peace that mantles Baigley peak,
The skies that span Strathearn.
1
Hughie's Advice to Dauvit to Enjoy the Fine Weather.
“Gratia cum nymphis geminisque sororibus audet
Ducere nuda choros.”
—Car. iv. 7.
Ducere nuda choros.”
—Car. iv. 7.
An' noo ance mair the Lomon'
Has donn'd his mantle green,
An' we may gang a-roamin'
Thro' the fields at e'en;
Has donn'd his mantle green,
An' we may gang a-roamin'
Thro' the fields at e'en;
An' listen to the rustlin'
O' green leaves i' the shaw,
An' hear the blackbird whistlin'
Winter weel awa'.
O' green leaves i' the shaw,
An' hear the blackbird whistlin'
Winter weel awa'.
2
Sae mild's the weather, Dauvit,
That was but late sae bauld,
We gang withoot a grauvit,
Careless o' the cauld.
That was but late sae bauld,
We gang withoot a grauvit,
Careless o' the cauld.
An' juist the ither nicht, man,
Twa barefit Mays were seen
(It maun hae been a sicht, man!)
Dancin' on the green.
Twa barefit Mays were seen
(It maun hae been a sicht, man!)
Dancin' on the green.
It sets a body thinkin'
Hoo quick the moments fly,
Hoo fast the days gang linkin'!
Spring 'ill sune be by;
Hoo quick the moments fly,
Hoo fast the days gang linkin'!
Spring 'ill sune be by;
Then Simmer wi' the roses,
Then Autumn wi' the grain;
Then Winter comes an' closes
A' thing ance again!
Then Autumn wi' the grain;
Then Winter comes an' closes
A' thing ance again!
An' yet, tho' short her range is,
Dame Nature's never dune;
She just repeats the changes,
Just renews the tune.
Dame Nature's never dune;
She just repeats the changes,
Just renews the tune.
3
The auld mune to her ruin
Gangs rowin' doon the sky,
When, swith, a braw bran new ane
Cocks her horn on high!
Gangs rowin' doon the sky,
When, swith, a braw bran new ane
Cocks her horn on high!
Alas! when oor short mornin'
Slides doun the slope to nicht,
There's neither tide nor turnin'
Back to life an' licht.
Slides doun the slope to nicht,
There's neither tide nor turnin'
Back to life an' licht.
We fa' as fell oor faithers
Into the narrow hame,
An' fog forgetfu' gaithers
Owre oor very name.
Into the narrow hame,
An' fog forgetfu' gaithers
Owre oor very name.
But what needs a' this grievin'
For griefs we dinna feel?
Let's leeve as lang's we're leevin',
Lauch as lang's we're weel.
For griefs we dinna feel?
Let's leeve as lang's we're leevin',
Lauch as lang's we're weel.
An' if it's gude i' gloamin'
It's better sune than syne
To rise an' gang a-roamin'
Noo the weather's fine.
It's better sune than syne
To rise an' gang a-roamin'
Noo the weather's fine.
4
Hughie refuses to Emigrate.
“Ibi tu calentem
Debita sparges lacrima favillam
Vatis amici.”
—Car. ii. 6.
Debita sparges lacrima favillam
Vatis amici.”
—Car. ii. 6.
Matthie, nae mair! Ye'se gang your lane!
Tak' my best wishes wi' ye,
An' may guid fortune owre the main
An' snugly settled see ye!
I wuss ye weel! The kintra's lairge,
An ye're but twa wi' Mary;
Ye'll shortly hae the owner's chairge,
Nae doot, o' half a prairie.
There's ample room in sic a park
To foond a score o' nations,
An' flourish like a patriarch
Amon' your generations.
Tak' my best wishes wi' ye,
An' may guid fortune owre the main
An' snugly settled see ye!
I wuss ye weel! The kintra's lairge,
An ye're but twa wi' Mary;
Ye'll shortly hae the owner's chairge,
Nae doot, o' half a prairie.
There's ample room in sic a park
To foond a score o' nations,
An' flourish like a patriarch
Amon' your generations.
7
But me may Scotland's bonnie hills
Maintain to utmost auld age,
Leadin' my flocks by quiet rills,
An' lingerin' thro' the gold age;
Untemptit wi' a foreign gain
That mak's ye merely laird o't,
An' thinkin' Scotland a' min' ain,
Tho' ownin' ne'er a yaird o't!
Maintain to utmost auld age,
Leadin' my flocks by quiet rills,
An' lingerin' thro' the gold age;
Untemptit wi' a foreign gain
That mak's ye merely laird o't,
An' thinkin' Scotland a' min' ain,
Tho' ownin' ne'er a yaird o't!
What hills are like the Ochil hills?
There's nane sae green, tho' grander;
What rills are like the Ochil rills?
Nane, nane on earth that wander!
There Spring returns amon' the sleet,
Ere Winter's tack be near thro';
There Spring an' Simmer fain wad meet
To tarry a' the year thro'!
There's nane sae green, tho' grander;
What rills are like the Ochil rills?
Nane, nane on earth that wander!
There Spring returns amon' the sleet,
Ere Winter's tack be near thro';
There Spring an' Simmer fain wad meet
To tarry a' the year thro'!
An' there in green Glendevon's shade
A grave at last be found me,
Wi' daisies growin' at my head
An' Devon lingerin' round me!
Nae stane disfigurement o' grief
Wi' lang narration rise there;
A line wad brawly serve, if brief,
To tell the lave wha lies there.
But ony sculptur'd wecht o' stane
Wad only overpow'r me;
A shepherd, musin' there his lane,
Were meeter bendin' owre me.
A grave at last be found me,
Wi' daisies growin' at my head
An' Devon lingerin' round me!
8
Wi' lang narration rise there;
A line wad brawly serve, if brief,
To tell the lave wha lies there.
But ony sculptur'd wecht o' stane
Wad only overpow'r me;
A shepherd, musin' there his lane,
Were meeter bendin' owre me.
9
Hughie's Reply to the Laird's Intimation of a Visit.
“Mea nec Falernæ
Temperant vites neque Formiani
Pocula colles.”
—Car. i. 20.
Temperant vites neque Formiani
Pocula colles.”
—Car. i. 20.
Dear laird, ye're comin' up the brae
As lang's gude weather haulds?
Ye're surely welcome to a day
Amang your ain sheep-faulds.
As lang's gude weather haulds?
Ye're surely welcome to a day
Amang your ain sheep-faulds.
If caller air, an' caperin' lamb,
An' knowes o' noddin' green,
Wi' noo an' then a social dram
Or twa-haund crack atween;
An' knowes o' noddin' green,
Wi' noo an' then a social dram
Or twa-haund crack atween;
The food wher'on your fathers fared,
A girdle scone an' cheese—
Ye're freely welcome to them, laird,
If thae hae power to please;
A girdle scone an' cheese—
Ye're freely welcome to them, laird,
If thae hae power to please;
10
But if your craig maun hae its waucht
O' wines I canna name,—
They're no' within a shepherd's aucht:
Ye'd better bide at hame.
O' wines I canna name,—
They're no' within a shepherd's aucht:
Ye'd better bide at hame.
11
Hughie's Anxiety for Davy on the Seas.
“Navis, quæ tibi creditum
Debes Virgilium.”
—Car. i. 3.
Debes Virgilium.”
—Car. i. 3.
Noo a' ye winds, but ane, that rair
An' revel on the deep,
Respect for ance a poet's pray'r—
Swith to your caves, an' sleep!
For Davy's sake, wha taks the tide
This mornin', be commaundit:
There's fifty folk on Devonside
That wuss him safely laundit.
An' revel on the deep,
Respect for ance a poet's pray'r—
Swith to your caves, an' sleep!
For Davy's sake, wha taks the tide
This mornin', be commaundit:
There's fifty folk on Devonside
That wuss him safely laundit.
An' you, wham only we excepp—
Ahint his ship, an' blaw!
An' mind oor hearts are in that ship
That carries him awa'!
We'll wauk the nicht upon oor hip
If ye should mak' commotion,
An' think the hoose is Davy's ship
An' Ochil earth the ocean!
Ahint his ship, an' blaw!
An' mind oor hearts are in that ship
That carries him awa'!
12
If ye should mak' commotion,
An' think the hoose is Davy's ship
An' Ochil earth the ocean!
Wha first to earth's green limits ran
An' coveted the sea—
Wha first to bigg a ship began,
A daurin' loon was he.
As seas an' surges owre him lash'd,
An' monsters wallowed roond him,
Didna his speerit shrink abash'd,
His hardihood confoond him?
An' coveted the sea—
Wha first to bigg a ship began,
A daurin' loon was he.
As seas an' surges owre him lash'd,
An' monsters wallowed roond him,
Didna his speerit shrink abash'd,
His hardihood confoond him?
Surely the oceans were design'd
To separate the lands,
An' men in wisdom were confin'd
In kindly kindred bands.
But mankind are a restless race,
Aye seekin' new inventions,
An' warpin' a' the gifts o' grace
Clean fra their first intentions.
To separate the lands,
An' men in wisdom were confin'd
In kindly kindred bands.
But mankind are a restless race,
Aye seekin' new inventions,
An' warpin' a' the gifts o' grace
Clean fra their first intentions.
15
We gruppit steam: nae doot at first
It lookit braw an' fine;
But mony a pat an' boiler burst
Has answer'd for't sin' syne.
We flew a draigon: an' the spark
Obeys a bairn if need is;
But look at the mischeevous wark
That's wrocht wi' thir torpeedies.
It lookit braw an' fine;
But mony a pat an' boiler burst
Has answer'd for't sin' syne.
We flew a draigon: an' the spark
Obeys a bairn if need is;
But look at the mischeevous wark
That's wrocht wi' thir torpeedies.
It's lang sin' pouther was fund oot;
But we've dune weel oorsel'—
We've raised in dynamite, I doot,
The mucklest deil in hell.
There's naething that we'll no' attemp'
If danger but commend it;
We're mairchin' at a bonnie tramp—
But, Lordsake! what's to end it?
But we've dune weel oorsel'—
We've raised in dynamite, I doot,
The mucklest deil in hell.
There's naething that we'll no' attemp'
If danger but commend it;
We're mairchin' at a bonnie tramp—
But, Lordsake! what's to end it?
16
Hughie sympathises with Jocky on his well-earned Rest.
“Gaudet invisam pepulisse fossor
Ter pede terram.”
—Car. iii. 18.
Ter pede terram.”
—Car. iii. 18.
Now Jocky's freed! The bands are broke
That tied him to the hated yoke;
Rejoicing in his freedom found,
With heavy heel he hits the ground.
That tied him to the hated yoke;
Rejoicing in his freedom found,
With heavy heel he hits the ground.
In thraldom to the red earth bound,
Sweet Jocky's griefs were of the ground;
Now, bondsman with a broken chain,
He leaps upon his tyrant slain.
Sweet Jocky's griefs were of the ground;
Now, bondsman with a broken chain,
He leaps upon his tyrant slain.
Leeze me on simmer!—but she brings
A heavy load of hempen strings;
She ties sweet Jocky to the wark
Fra morning dim till gloaming dark.
A heavy load of hempen strings;
She ties sweet Jocky to the wark
Fra morning dim till gloaming dark.
17
His haunds are hard, his banes are sair;
Wi' but the gift o' caller air,
He plants his feet in many a soil,
He leaves in many a clod his toil.
Wi' but the gift o' caller air,
He plants his feet in many a soil,
He leaves in many a clod his toil.
But noo nae mair he'll drag his feet;
The labour o' the year's complete:
Now beat the stibble-laund wi' glee,
And fling aloft with fetlock free!
The labour o' the year's complete:
Now beat the stibble-laund wi' glee,
And fling aloft with fetlock free!
On loft with rural joy he jumps,
He beats the ground with triple thumps!
The lingering vigour of his legs
He leaves upon the hated rigs!
He beats the ground with triple thumps!
The lingering vigour of his legs
He leaves upon the hated rigs!
Now heap the hearth with peats an' whins;
And, Jocky, rest and roast your shins,—
Till Candlemas with blustering shout
Cry Jocky and his oxen out!
And, Jocky, rest and roast your shins,—
Till Candlemas with blustering shout
Cry Jocky and his oxen out!
18
Hughie at the Maiden's Well.
“Fies nobilium tu quoque fontium.”
—Car. iii. 13.
—Car. iii. 13.
Thou bonnie modest mountain spring,
That tinkles oot aneth a stane,
An' seems to thy ainsel' to sing—
For listener near is nane—
There's neither birk nor rowan tree
Bends owre thy brink to shelter thee,
An' but ae gowan fra the lea
Has wander'd here its lane.
That tinkles oot aneth a stane,
An' seems to thy ainsel' to sing—
For listener near is nane—
There's neither birk nor rowan tree
Bends owre thy brink to shelter thee,
An' but ae gowan fra the lea
Has wander'd here its lane.
I thocht nae cretur near e'en-noo,
Till, as I loutit doun to drink,
Awa' wi' flichterin' flurry flew
A lintie fra the brink.
I'm dootfu' if it was a bird,
Sae still it sat afore it stirr'd,
Then, swifter than I'll say the wird,
Gaed by me in a blink.
Till, as I loutit doun to drink,
21
A lintie fra the brink.
I'm dootfu' if it was a bird,
Sae still it sat afore it stirr'd,
Then, swifter than I'll say the wird,
Gaed by me in a blink.
Was it the fairy o' the fount
Disturbit in her maiden dream,
That, takin' fricht on my account,
Was startled fra her hame?
Thou lovely Thocht o' Solitude!
Nae mair will I wi' footstep rude,
An' harsh an' hasty wirds, intrude
Upon thy haly stream.
Disturbit in her maiden dream,
That, takin' fricht on my account,
Was startled fra her hame?
Thou lovely Thocht o' Solitude!
Nae mair will I wi' footstep rude,
An' harsh an' hasty wirds, intrude
Upon thy haly stream.
Sae fare-thee-weel, sweet Maiden's Well!
Baith sun and weet thy waters spare!
Thou minds me o' a maid thysel',
Sae meek thy modest air.
Thy siller thread is hardly seen
Winding the solemn hills between,
Yet a' the way the banks o' green
Give proof that thou art there.
Baith sun and weet thy waters spare!
Thou minds me o' a maid thysel',
Sae meek thy modest air.
22
Winding the solemn hills between,
Yet a' the way the banks o' green
Give proof that thou art there.
[_]
Note.—The Maiden's Well lies on the edge of the old bridle-path over the hills, about two miles behind Castle Campbell. Its beauty is in itself—cool, clear, and copious; sine floribus, yet not without its wreath of pastoral legend.
23
Hughie's Waddin' Gift to his friend Jame.
“Ne quis modici transiliat munera Liberi.”
—Car. i. 18.
—Car. i. 18.
Ye're leavin' 's Jame! nae langer noo
To rank amon' the wanters—
By way o' waddin' gift fra Hugh
Accepp thir twa decanters.
They're fill'd wi' Scotland's native juice—
An' whaur's a nobler liquor?
They'll aiblins help to heat your hoose,
An' mak' your union siccar.
To rank amon' the wanters—
By way o' waddin' gift fra Hugh
Accepp thir twa decanters.
They're fill'd wi' Scotland's native juice—
An' whaur's a nobler liquor?
They'll aiblins help to heat your hoose,
An' mak' your union siccar.
Ye'll hae your joys: John Barleycorn
May wi' advantage share them!
Ye'll hae your griefs: fill up your horn—
He'll gie ye heart to bear them!
Tak' aff your dram an' crack your joke
However Fortun' vary;
It's only aye to water folk
She's cauldrife an' contrairy!
May wi' advantage share them!
Ye'll hae your griefs: fill up your horn—
He'll gie ye heart to bear them!
24
However Fortun' vary;
It's only aye to water folk
She's cauldrife an' contrairy!
Ye're puir; but, Jamie, tak' nae thocht,—
The maist o' folk are born till't!
Dae weel; syne if ye're fash'd wi' ocht,
Lift up a hielant horn till't!
We've a' oor troubles mair or less,
But to cry oot is weak-like;
Regairdit thro' a social gless
The warld's nane sae bleak-like!
The maist o' folk are born till't!
Dae weel; syne if ye're fash'd wi' ocht,
Lift up a hielant horn till't!
We've a' oor troubles mair or less,
But to cry oot is weak-like;
Regairdit thro' a social gless
The warld's nane sae bleak-like!
Yet, when ye at the board unbend
At nae unworthy season,
Be mindfu' aye to mak' an end
Conformable to reason.
For aince if owre the boun's they win,
The passions quickly speak oot,
An' secrets, that are safer in,
Are likelier then to leak oot.
At nae unworthy season,
Be mindfu' aye to mak' an end
Conformable to reason.
For aince if owre the boun's they win,
The passions quickly speak oot,
An' secrets, that are safer in,
Are likelier then to leak oot.
27
Then self-indulgence, lang alloo'd,
Becomes a second nature,
To change the manner an' the mood,
An' e'en the very feature.
There's Rabbie wi' the muckle mooth
That married Meg that mantit—
He drank himsel' into a drooth,
An' noo he canna want it!
Becomes a second nature,
To change the manner an' the mood,
An' e'en the very feature.
There's Rabbie wi' the muckle mooth
That married Meg that mantit—
He drank himsel' into a drooth,
An' noo he canna want it!
An' then there's gauger Pate—but he
'S nae waur than what his wife is;
Ye'll read it in his blecken'd ee
What his domestic life is.
Tak' warnin', Jamie, by their case,
An' learn fra their example,
While pleasure's in the mod'rate use,
The mod'rate use is ample.
'S nae waur than what his wife is;
Ye'll read it in his blecken'd ee
What his domestic life is.
Tak' warnin', Jamie, by their case,
An' learn fra their example,
While pleasure's in the mod'rate use,
The mod'rate use is ample.
28
The White Winter: Hughie dreads the Return of the Ice Age.
“Jam satis terris nivis atque diræ
Grandinis misit Pater.”
—Car. i. 2.
Grandinis misit Pater.”
—Car. i. 2.
Man, but it's vexin'! There's the Law
For five months noo been white wi' snaw;
An', when we lookit for a thaw,
An' lowser weather,
It's gaitherin' for anither fa',
As black as ever!
For five months noo been white wi' snaw;
An', when we lookit for a thaw,
An' lowser weather,
It's gaitherin' for anither fa',
As black as ever!
It's no' alane that fother's dear,
Yowes stervin', an' the lambin' near,
An' Winter owre the Ochils drear
Drivin' unstintit,—
But, Lordsake! what's come owre the year?
An' what's ahint it?
Yowes stervin', an' the lambin' near,
An' Winter owre the Ochils drear
Drivin' unstintit,—
But, Lordsake! what's come owre the year?
An' what's ahint it?
29
Wha kens but what oor aixle tree
'S been slew'd aboot, or dung ajee,
An' aff thro' space awa' we flee
In a daft orbit?
Whilk mak's the seasons, as we see,
Be sair disturbit.
'S been slew'd aboot, or dung ajee,
An' aff thro' space awa' we flee
In a daft orbit?
Whilk mak's the seasons, as we see,
Be sair disturbit.
Wha kens but what we've seen the heel
O' Simmer in a last fareweel?
Nae mair green gowany braes to speel
Wi' joyfu' crook,
Nor dip in Devon, whaur a wiel
Invites to dook!
O' Simmer in a last fareweel?
Nae mair green gowany braes to speel
Wi' joyfu' crook,
Nor dip in Devon, whaur a wiel
Invites to dook!
What ance has been may be ance mair,
An' ance—as learnèd clerks declare—
This planet's fortune was to fare,
In ages auld,
Thro' regions o' the frigid air,
Past kennin' cauld.
An' ance—as learnèd clerks declare—
This planet's fortune was to fare,
In ages auld,
Thro' regions o' the frigid air,
Past kennin' cauld.
30
Nae doot but this was centuries gane,
When human cretur' there was nane,
An' this auld warld, her liefu' lane,
Bowl'd thro' the nicht,
Wi' tangles hingin' fra a mune,
Her only licht.
When human cretur' there was nane,
An' this auld warld, her liefu' lane,
Bowl'd thro' the nicht,
Wi' tangles hingin' fra a mune,
Her only licht.
An eldritch scene that licht display'd!
There lay the continents array'd,
Like corpses o' the lately dead,
In a cauld sheet,
Wi' icebergs sittin' at their head
An' at their feet!
There lay the continents array'd,
Like corpses o' the lately dead,
In a cauld sheet,
Wi' icebergs sittin' at their head
An' at their feet!
What ance has been may happen twice,—
It's weel kenn'd we hae little ch'ice;
An' if it be the Age o' Ice
Return'd ance mair—
Faith, tak' this present for a spice,
It offers fair!
It's weel kenn'd we hae little ch'ice;
An' if it be the Age o' Ice
Return'd ance mair—
Faith, tak' this present for a spice,
It offers fair!
31
The snaw a' owre lies sax feet deep;
Ae half oor time we're howkin' sheep;
We haena haen a blanket sleep
Sin' the New Year;
An' here we're at oor hin'most neep,
An' term-time near!
Ae half oor time we're howkin' sheep;
We haena haen a blanket sleep
Sin' the New Year;
An' here we're at oor hin'most neep,
An' term-time near!
It's juist as bad wi' ither folk:
A shepherd's missin' wi' his flock;
An eagle's ravagin' the Knock;
An' nearer hame,
A dearth o' whisky's at the Crook,
An' aumries toom.
A shepherd's missin' wi' his flock;
An eagle's ravagin' the Knock;
An' nearer hame,
A dearth o' whisky's at the Crook,
An' aumries toom.
The gates are blockit up a' roun' 's,
Silent are a' the seas an' soun's,
An' at the very trons in toons
It's hoch deep lyin':
In fac', the Winter's broken boun's,
There's nae denyin'.
Silent are a' the seas an' soun's,
An' at the very trons in toons
It's hoch deep lyin':
In fac', the Winter's broken boun's,
There's nae denyin'.
32
It may be—for we're grown sae wice,
We're no' juist to be smoor'd like mice,—
It may be that by some device
We'll fricht the snaw,
An' gie this threaten'd Age o' Ice
The ca' awa'!
We're no' juist to be smoor'd like mice,—
It may be that by some device
We'll fricht the snaw,
An' gie this threaten'd Age o' Ice
The ca' awa'!
Some braw electrical machine
Amang the cluds may intervene,
Send licht an' heat, an' change the scene
The warld throughoot;
An' burn oor skins, an' blind oor een,
Wi't a', nae doot!
Amang the cluds may intervene,
Send licht an' heat, an' change the scene
The warld throughoot;
An' burn oor skins, an' blind oor een,
Wi't a', nae doot!
Come back, come back, oor ain auld sun,
Thy auld-appointed path to run;
An' a' the freits that were begun
To shore us ill
Shall, in the crackin' of a gun,
Flee owre the hill.
Thy auld-appointed path to run;
An' a' the freits that were begun
To shore us ill
Shall, in the crackin' of a gun,
Flee owre the hill.
33
Then, as of auld, when skies are clear,
An' springin' corn begins to breer,
Those joys your shepherd's heart shall cheer
That charm'd of yore;
An' life on Devon be as dear
As heretofore!
An' springin' corn begins to breer,
Those joys your shepherd's heart shall cheer
That charm'd of yore;
An' life on Devon be as dear
As heretofore!
34
Hughie's Delight in the Return of Spring.
“Audire et videor pios
Errare per lucos, amœnæ
Quos et aquæ subeunt et auræ.”
—Car. iii. 4.
Errare per lucos, amœnæ
Quos et aquæ subeunt et auræ.”
—Car. iii. 4.
I
Fra whaur in fragrant wuds ye bideSecure fra winter care,
Come, gentle Spring, to Ochilside
And Ochil valleys fair.
For sweet as ony pagan spring
Are Devon's waters clear;
And life wad be a lovely thing
Gif ye were only here.
35
II
She comes! the waffin' o' her wingsWi' music fills the air;
An' wintry thochts o' men an' things
Vex human hearts nae mair.
On Devon banks wi' me she strays,
Her poet for the while,
And Ochil brooks and Ochil braes
Grow classic in her smile!
36
Hughie's Bachelor Party.
“Da lunæ propere novæ,
Da noctis mediæ.”
—Car. iii. 19.
Da noctis mediæ.”
—Car. iii. 19.
Ay, here they come, thrang warstlin' up the brae
Like sheep in single file,
No' ane o' them wi' lang'age left—they're sae
Forfoughen wi' their toil.
Like sheep in single file,
No' ane o' them wi' lang'age left—they're sae
Forfoughen wi' their toil.
Tammy, ye're first—but tailors for a broose!
Willie, my man, your paw!
Ye're pechan', Pate! Weel, Watty, what's the noos?
An' Lowrie's last o' a'!
Willie, my man, your paw!
Ye're pechan', Pate! Weel, Watty, what's the noos?
An' Lowrie's last o' a'!
What! no a wird? Weel, stand an' tak' a breath,
An' view the scene awhile;
I weel believe it, Pate, withoot the aith—
It was that hin'most mile.
An' view the scene awhile;
I weel believe it, Pate, withoot the aith—
It was that hin'most mile.
39
Ay, lads, ye're high—ye're up amang the groose;
That was the muir-cock's craw!
But in! ye're welcome to the Shepherd's hoose;
I'm gled to see ye a'.
That was the muir-cock's craw!
But in! ye're welcome to the Shepherd's hoose;
I'm gled to see ye a'.
Draw in your chairs—na! no' until I see
Five auld frien's plantit richt!
An' noo, afore I fesh the barley-bree,
Nae politics the nicht!
Five auld frien's plantit richt!
An' noo, afore I fesh the barley-bree,
Nae politics the nicht!
There's Watty wi' the budget in his wime—
Noo, Watty, haud your haund;
The wise man says that a' thing has its time,
But here—ye're aff your laund.
Noo, Watty, haud your haund;
The wise man says that a' thing has its time,
But here—ye're aff your laund.
Gude-fallowship's the fashion i' the hills,
An' fechtin' i' the toun:
If either Whig or Tory ventur'd till 's—
Man, we wad shute them doun!
An' fechtin' i' the toun:
If either Whig or Tory ventur'd till 's—
Man, we wad shute them doun!
Come, come! a bargain be't. An'hoo's your hoast?
An' what's the price o' woo'?
Has Bauby gotten owre that bairn she lost?
But was the deacon fu'?
An' what's the price o' woo'?
Has Bauby gotten owre that bairn she lost?
But was the deacon fu'?
40
That whusky duty!—but we'll lat it be;
It mayna get oor length!
Here's to ye, Pate! Willie—it's wat your ee!
Lad, that's the stuff for strength!
It mayna get oor length!
Here's to ye, Pate! Willie—it's wat your ee!
Lad, that's the stuff for strength!
Here's a big bumper for us a' thegither!
But wha's that at the pane?
The new mune keekin' in a kind o' swither!
'Faith, we maun gie her ane!
But wha's that at the pane?
The new mune keekin' in a kind o' swither!
'Faith, we maun gie her ane!
Ane for the nicht; an' ane for Jock the cadger
Wha brocht the tappit hen;
An' ane for him, too, honest man! the gauger
Wha lost himsel' i' glen!
Wha brocht the tappit hen;
An' ane for him, too, honest man! the gauger
Wha lost himsel' i' glen!
Nae pressin'—na! ilk man should ken his score!
A sober gauge is six!
There's water in a stoup ahint the door
For them that want to mix.
A sober gauge is six!
There's water in a stoup ahint the door
For them that want to mix.
Na, but I'm blythe—I'm daft to see ye a'!
Lowrie, produce your flute,
We maun hae music;—first we'll take your blaw,
An' syne a sang fra Pate.
Lowrie, produce your flute,
We maun hae music;—first we'll take your blaw,
An' syne a sang fra Pate.
41
Then in a chorus sang we'll soop the heather
Till the waste places ring,
An' social coveys sleepin' soun' thegither
Break aff on startled wing.
Till the waste places ring,
An' social coveys sleepin' soun' thegither
Break aff on startled wing.
An' let that churlish Nawbal o' a fermer,
Oor nippit neebor, hear;
An' lovely Abigail, as I may term her,
That should be—Dauvit's dear!
Oor nippit neebor, hear;
An' lovely Abigail, as I may term her,
That should be—Dauvit's dear!
O Tam, ye're happy in your love for Meg,
Ye're blest—ye're free o' blame;
But I maun burn for what I daurna beg,—
For her I daurna name!
Ye're blest—ye're free o' blame;
But I maun burn for what I daurna beg,—
For her I daurna name!
[_]
Note.—The reference in the 9th stanza is to the increased duty on whisky, threatened by a recent Budget.
42
Hughie's Winter Excuse for a Dram.
“Vides ut alta stet nive candidum
Soracte.”
—Car. i. 9.
Soracte.”
—Car. i. 9.
Fra whaur ye hing, my cauldrife frien',
Your blue neb owre the lowe,
A snawy nichtcap may be seen
Upon Benarty's pow;
An' snaw upon the auld gean stump,
Whas' frostit branches hang
Oot-owre the dyke abune the pump
That's gane clean aff the fang.
The pump that half the toun's folk ser'd,
It winna gie a jaw,
An' rouch, I ken, sall be your beard
Until there comes a thaw!
Your blue neb owre the lowe,
A snawy nichtcap may be seen
Upon Benarty's pow;
An' snaw upon the auld gean stump,
Whas' frostit branches hang
Oot-owre the dyke abune the pump
That's gane clean aff the fang.
The pump that half the toun's folk ser'd,
It winna gie a jaw,
An' rouch, I ken, sall be your beard
Until there comes a thaw!
43
Come, reenge the ribs, an' let the heat
Doun to oor tinglin' taes;
Clap on a gude Kinaskit peat
An' let us see a blaze.
An' since o' water we are scant
Fess ben the barley-bree—
A nebfu' baith we sanna want
To wet oor whistles wi'!
Noo let the winds o' Winter blaw
Owre Scotland's hills an' plains,
It matters nocht to us ava—
We've simmer in oor veins!
Doun to oor tinglin' taes;
Clap on a gude Kinaskit peat
An' let us see a blaze.
An' since o' water we are scant
Fess ben the barley-bree—
A nebfu' baith we sanna want
To wet oor whistles wi'!
Noo let the winds o' Winter blaw
Owre Scotland's hills an' plains,
It matters nocht to us ava—
We've simmer in oor veins!
The pooers o' Nature, wind an' snaw,
Are far abune oor fit,
But while we scoog them, let them blaw;
We'll aye hae simmer yet.
An' sae wi' Fortune's blasts, my frien',—
They'll come an' bide at will,
But we can jink ahint a screen
An' jook their fury still.
Then happy ilka day that comes,
An' glorious ilka nicht;
The present doesna fash oor thooms,
The future needna fricht!
Are far abune oor fit,
But while we scoog them, let them blaw;
We'll aye hae simmer yet.
An' sae wi' Fortune's blasts, my frien',—
They'll come an' bide at will,
But we can jink ahint a screen
An' jook their fury still.
44
An' glorious ilka nicht;
The present doesna fash oor thooms,
The future needna fricht!
The future!—man, there's joys in store,
An' joys ye little ken;
The warld has prov'd them sweet afore,
The warld will again!
The lasses, min! the dearest gift
An' treasure time can gie—
Here's to the love that lichts the lift
O' woman's witchin' ee!
An' vainly till that licht expire
Should storm or winter low'r—
It's sune aneuch to seek the fire
When simmer days are owre!
An' joys ye little ken;
The warld has prov'd them sweet afore,
The warld will again!
The lasses, min! the dearest gift
An' treasure time can gie—
Here's to the love that lichts the lift
O' woman's witchin' ee!
An' vainly till that licht expire
Should storm or winter low'r—
It's sune aneuch to seek the fire
When simmer days are owre!
[_]
Note.—Kinaskit, as its inhabitants pronounce Kinnesswood, is a small village at the foot of the Lomond Hill and not far from Lochleven. In its neighbourhood is a small peat-moss, from which the surrounding villages and farm-towns used to be supplied with fuel. To the student of English literature the village of Kinnesswood has other associations—those, namely, connected with Michael Bruce.
45
Hughie Consoles and Counsels young Nannie in the Absence of Davie.
“Prima nocte domum claude, neque in vias
Sub cantu querulæ despice tibiæ.”
—Car. iii. 7.
Sub cantu querulæ despice tibiæ.”
—Car. iii. 7.
O dry that tear that trickles doun
For Davie owre the sea;
The fates 'ill keep him safe an' soun',
An' that for sake o' thee.
What pleasure wad it gie the fates
To vex a heart like thine
Whas' only wish on Davie waits,
Whas' hopes roun' Davie twine.
For Davie owre the sea;
The fates 'ill keep him safe an' soun',
An' that for sake o' thee.
What pleasure wad it gie the fates
To vex a heart like thine
Whas' only wish on Davie waits,
Whas' hopes roun' Davie twine.
An' dinna wrang his faithfu' heart
By dootin' if he's true;
Sweet Nannie! far owre fair thou art
For him to brak' his voo.
Sweet Nannie! there's nae fairer face,
Nor mair bewitchin' ee,
In ony frem'd or foreign place
For Davie's een to see!
By dootin' if he's true;
Sweet Nannie! far owre fair thou art
For him to brak' his voo.
46
Nor mair bewitchin' ee,
In ony frem'd or foreign place
For Davie's een to see!
To thee he turns, for thee he toils,
O' thee lies doun to dream,
Or wauks the nicht to coont the miles
Between him an' his hame.
O dinna doot that Nannie's charms
'Ill draw him owre the main
To Nannie's fond an' faithful arms
An' Devon's banks again.
O' thee lies doun to dream,
Or wauks the nicht to coont the miles
Between him an' his hame.
O dinna doot that Nannie's charms
'Ill draw him owre the main
To Nannie's fond an' faithful arms
An' Devon's banks again.
But, Nannie, hearken in your ear—
It's kent to ane or twa
That hielant Donal' wad draw near
Noo Davie's far awa.
An' sweetly soonds his pipe, it's true,
When gloamin' gaithers dim—
'Faith! Dave has mair to fear fra you
Than you've to fear fra him!
It's kent to ane or twa
That hielant Donal' wad draw near
Noo Davie's far awa.
An' sweetly soonds his pipe, it's true,
When gloamin' gaithers dim—
'Faith! Dave has mair to fear fra you
Than you've to fear fra him!
49
Hughie takes his Ease in his Inn.
“Vates quid orat de patera novum
Fundens liquorem.”
—Car. i. 31.
Fundens liquorem.”
—Car. i. 31.
Noo, by my croon, the sun sends doun
Uncommon drouthy weather,
But here's an inn—if it were sin
We'll spill a dram thegither!
An' while we sit an' rest oor fit,
Surveyin' man's dominion,
We'll tak' a glance at things that chance,
An' freely pass opinion.
Uncommon drouthy weather,
But here's an inn—if it were sin
We'll spill a dram thegither!
An' while we sit an' rest oor fit,
Surveyin' man's dominion,
We'll tak' a glance at things that chance,
An' freely pass opinion.
Yon stookit grain that dots the plain—
We canna ca' a lead o't;
The herd that strays on yonder braes—
We canna claim a head o't.
It's no' in beeves an' baundit sheaves
That we can coont oor wealth, Tam;
Yet, nane the less, there's happiness
To puir folk wi' their health, Tam.
We canna ca' a lead o't;
The herd that strays on yonder braes—
We canna claim a head o't.
50
That we can coont oor wealth, Tam;
Yet, nane the less, there's happiness
To puir folk wi' their health, Tam.
There needs but sma' estate to ca'
Awa' the wants that fear folk;
While mony wares bring mony cares
That never trouble puir folk.
An' for the yield o' hill or field—
It's little that we're spar'd o't,
But to the ee it's just as free
To hiz as him that's laird o't.
Awa' the wants that fear folk;
While mony wares bring mony cares
That never trouble puir folk.
An' for the yield o' hill or field—
It's little that we're spar'd o't,
But to the ee it's just as free
To hiz as him that's laird o't.
Gie knaves their wine—this drink be mine,
Auld Scotland's native brewin'!
O' this bereft, there's water left,
Wi' that we'll e'en be doin'!
Gie fules their braws—they've aiblins cause
To be sae finely wrappit;
The man that's in a healthy skin,
He's brawly if he's happit.
Auld Scotland's native brewin'!
O' this bereft, there's water left,
Wi' that we'll e'en be doin'!
Gie fules their braws—they've aiblins cause
To be sae finely wrappit;
The man that's in a healthy skin,
He's brawly if he's happit.
51
Gie him a horse wha wants the force
To drive his ain shanks' naigie;
What can he ken o' wud or glen,
Or mountain wild an' craigie?
Wad Fortun' grant me what I want
I'd pray for health o' body,
A healthy mind to sang inclin'd,
An' nae dislike for toddy!
To drive his ain shanks' naigie;
What can he ken o' wud or glen,
Or mountain wild an' craigie?
Wad Fortun' grant me what I want
I'd pray for health o' body,
A healthy mind to sang inclin'd,
An' nae dislike for toddy!
52
Hughie Visits a Sick Friend.
“Ibimus, ibimus,
Utcumque præcedes supremum
Carpere iter comites parati.”
—Car. ii. 17.
Utcumque præcedes supremum
Carpere iter comites parati.”
—Car. ii. 17.
Davie, auld frien', ye've been a long time ailin',
Ye've suffer'd mony a weary week o' pain,
But dinna think, an' dinna say ye're failin';
Health an' your hopes may a' come back again.
Hoo aften hae we wuss'd, my frien', my brither,
Leadin' our flocks alang the lown hillside,
Thro' life, thro' death to wander on thegither,
Content to gang, yet weel content to bide!
Ye've suffer'd mony a weary week o' pain,
But dinna think, an' dinna say ye're failin';
Health an' your hopes may a' come back again.
Hoo aften hae we wuss'd, my frien', my brither,
Leadin' our flocks alang the lown hillside,
Thro' life, thro' death to wander on thegither,
Content to gang, yet weel content to bide!
Man! as I come in-ower fra the green meadow
Whaur late-born lambs are toddlin' i' the sun,
An' see ye lyin' here, a wastit shadow,
Weak as the least and latest life begun,
Without its hopes, tho' aiblins wi' a greater,
An' me sae hale an hearty lookin' on,
Pooerless to help—it's no' in human natur'
To leave thae life-lang dreams without a groan.
Whaur late-born lambs are toddlin' i' the sun,
An' see ye lyin' here, a wastit shadow,
Weak as the least and latest life begun,
55
An' me sae hale an hearty lookin' on,
Pooerless to help—it's no' in human natur'
To leave thae life-lang dreams without a groan.
Davie, it canna be; ower muir an' mountain
Comes surgin' fra the south the tide o' Spring:
Licht to the lift, an' music to the fountain,
An' spray o' flooers a' gate its billows fling.
O' winter's snaw there's but a tate remainin',
Gowans and laverocks gladden sky an' lea,
An' maun ye, Moses-like, on this new Canaan
Cast but a glance, an' syne lie doun an' dee?
Comes surgin' fra the south the tide o' Spring:
Licht to the lift, an' music to the fountain,
An' spray o' flooers a' gate its billows fling.
O' winter's snaw there's but a tate remainin',
Gowans and laverocks gladden sky an' lea,
An' maun ye, Moses-like, on this new Canaan
Cast but a glance, an' syne lie doun an' dee?
What signifies the simmer's gowden splendour
O' days an' starry nichts to me my lane?
What breath o' balm, what timorous touch an' tender
O' wind could comfort me, an' Davie gane?
The year's melodious mirth on me were wastit,
In wuds an' watters hearin' but a wail;
Fra me the cup o' joy wad pass untastit,
An' a' the sweets o' life an' livin' fail.
O' days an' starry nichts to me my lane?
What breath o' balm, what timorous touch an' tender
O' wind could comfort me, an' Davie gane?
The year's melodious mirth on me were wastit,
In wuds an' watters hearin' but a wail;
Fra me the cup o' joy wad pass untastit,
An' a' the sweets o' life an' livin' fail.
56
An' you,—whaure'er in fields abune ye dander'd,
Wha's mornin' prime endures the ages thro',
By whatna crystal wave unkent ye wander'd,
'Neth skies wi' ne'er a clud to blot their blue;
Tho' ne'er a glint fra hope ye bude to borrow,
Secure in calm, unkennin' cauld or care,—
My mournin', like a sough o' autumn sorrow,
Wad follow ye, an' fret ye even there!
Wha's mornin' prime endures the ages thro',
By whatna crystal wave unkent ye wander'd,
'Neth skies wi' ne'er a clud to blot their blue;
Tho' ne'er a glint fra hope ye bude to borrow,
Secure in calm, unkennin' cauld or care,—
My mournin', like a sough o' autumn sorrow,
Wad follow ye, an' fret ye even there!
Davie, it's no' the first time we hae fand it
A joyfu' truth that Providence is kind:
Let's warstle thro' the doots whaur noo we're landit,
An' face the future still wi' even mind.
The gate o' death, by which we a' maun enter—
By it we'll meet, tho' late an' lang it be:
Peace be wi' him whaever first maun enter,
But patience is a harder weird to dree!
A joyfu' truth that Providence is kind:
Let's warstle thro' the doots whaur noo we're landit,
An' face the future still wi' even mind.
The gate o' death, by which we a' maun enter—
By it we'll meet, tho' late an' lang it be:
Peace be wi' him whaever first maun enter,
But patience is a harder weird to dree!
57
Hughie on War and Sport.
“Quem tu, Melpomene,” &c.
—Car. iv. 3.
—Car. iv. 3.
Wham at his birth wi' mournfu' smile
The Muse has ance regairdet,
Shall ne'er in field o' battle toil
To be with bays rewairdet.
The Muse has ance regairdet,
Shall ne'er in field o' battle toil
To be with bays rewairdet.
Yet shall he haunt, a lanely ghost,
The placid battle plain—
To mourn the lives that there were lost,
The loves that there were slain.
The placid battle plain—
To mourn the lives that there were lost,
The loves that there were slain.
Hoo caulder for thae stricken lives
Maun mony a hearth hae been;
Hoo blank to mony bairns an' wives
The social hoor at e'en!
Maun mony a hearth hae been;
Hoo blank to mony bairns an' wives
The social hoor at e'en!
58
Nae hunter on the heather hills
Bird-slaughterin' shall he be,
Nor fisher rivin' fra the gills
O' some puir troot his flee.
Bird-slaughterin' shall he be,
Nor fisher rivin' fra the gills
O' some puir troot his flee.
Yet shall he love the dusky pools
And speel the mountain stairs,
Unburdened wi' the murderin' tools
O' guns an' gauds an' snares,—
And speel the mountain stairs,
Unburdened wi' the murderin' tools
O' guns an' gauds an' snares,—
O'erjoy'd to find attractions rife
In Nature's ilka feature,
And share the brotherhood of life
With every happy creature.
In Nature's ilka feature,
And share the brotherhood of life
With every happy creature.
Oh, what avails a victor's name
At close of battle clangour?
This warld is far owre sma' for fame,
And life owre short for anger.
At close of battle clangour?
This warld is far owre sma' for fame,
And life owre short for anger.
59
Hughie's Early Memories.
“Ille me tecum locus et beatæ
Postulant arces.”
—Car. ii. 6.
Postulant arces.”
—Car. ii. 6.
When green again, a gledsome hue,
The auld hill-taps cam' back to view,
An' cluds broke up, an' skies shone thro',
An' glorified the Ochils,—
The auld hill-taps cam' back to view,
An' cluds broke up, an' skies shone thro',
An' glorified the Ochils,—
I mind it weel, we took the braes,
We left the toun like hunted raes,
We hardly waited for oor claes,
To rin an' speel the Ochils!
We left the toun like hunted raes,
We hardly waited for oor claes,
To rin an' speel the Ochils!
We lap the burns for bud an' bell,
We scour'd for whussle-wud the dell,
And ance we happen'd on a stell,
High up amang the Ochils!
We scour'd for whussle-wud the dell,
And ance we happen'd on a stell,
High up amang the Ochils!
60
We sheuk the buss, we staned the seggs,
We scaur'd the wild-dyuck aff her eggs,
We scaur'd the heron aff his legs,
And aff the very Ochils!
We scaur'd the wild-dyuck aff her eggs,
We scaur'd the heron aff his legs,
And aff the very Ochils!
When Simmer days were lang an' fine,
We cam' wi' wicker wands an' twine,
An' tint, an' thocht it heaven to tine,
The 'oors amang the Ochils!
We cam' wi' wicker wands an' twine,
An' tint, an' thocht it heaven to tine,
The 'oors amang the Ochils!
Tho' deil a mony troots we gruppit,
Baith owre and in the linns we luppit,
And to the sark, or past it, strippit,
Secure amang the Ochils!
Baith owre and in the linns we luppit,
And to the sark, or past it, strippit,
Secure amang the Ochils!
Oor breeks lay scatter'd on the banks,
We kirn'd the water wi' oor shanks,
An' salmon-red we play'd oor pranks,
Run deils amang the Ochils!
We kirn'd the water wi' oor shanks,
An' salmon-red we play'd oor pranks,
Run deils amang the Ochils!
When Autumn sent the settled weather,
We lay amang the purple heather,
Listening the bees for 'oors thegither
Bummin' a' ower the Ochils!
We lay amang the purple heather,
Listening the bees for 'oors thegither
Bummin' a' ower the Ochils!
61
We spied the lairds, a beardit lot,
Wi' cudgel-staff an' raucous throat,
Stappin' aboot, withoot the coat,
At hame amang the Ochils!
Wi' cudgel-staff an' raucous throat,
Stappin' aboot, withoot the coat,
At hame amang the Ochils!
When Winter cam', an' frosts were keen,
An' snaw-ploos in the street were seen,
We saw them like a far-aff frien',—
They were anither Ochils!
An' snaw-ploos in the street were seen,
We saw them like a far-aff frien',—
They were anither Ochils!
What tragedy o' bird an' beass,
Destruction to the cock-laird race,
We kentna o', we could but guess,
Was happenin' i' the Ochils!
Destruction to the cock-laird race,
We kentna o', we could but guess,
Was happenin' i' the Ochils!
But green again, a gledsome hue,
The auld hill-taps cam' back to view,
An' the cock-lairds gat up, an' crew
Possession o' the Ochils!
The auld hill-taps cam' back to view,
An' the cock-lairds gat up, an' crew
Possession o' the Ochils!
62
A Stormy Night: Hughie hobnobbing at Home.
“Alga litus inutili
Demissa tempestas ab Euro
Sternet, aquæ nisi fallit augur.”
—Car. iii. 17.
Demissa tempestas ab Euro
Sternet, aquæ nisi fallit augur.”
—Car. iii. 17.
George, son of lairds that awn'd the laund,
Sin' Scotland was a nation—
And yet ye tak' a higher staund
Than that o' generation:
What tho' your pedigree ye trace
Frae maister an' frae madam?
The meanest figure wi' a face,
He bude to come fra Adam.
Sin' Scotland was a nation—
And yet ye tak' a higher staund
Than that o' generation:
What tho' your pedigree ye trace
Frae maister an' frae madam?
The meanest figure wi' a face,
He bude to come fra Adam.
George, worthy son o' honest folk!
I canna rank ye high'r—
I spend this nicht at aucht o'clock
Beside my ain peat fire.
The mune, sair burden'd wi' a broch,
Shaws nouther face nor form;
And there's a moanin' aff the loch
That bodes the comin' storm.
I canna rank ye high'r—
I spend this nicht at aucht o'clock
Beside my ain peat fire.
65
Shaws nouther face nor form;
And there's a moanin' aff the loch
That bodes the comin' storm.
Gie Borlan' Jock, the cadger loon,
An' poacher tho' he is,
As he gangs drookit by your toon,
A dram for bringin' this:
An' for oorsel's—we'll play the joke
We've play'd sae aften noo:
Drink up to me at aucht o'clock,
And I'll drink doun to you!
An' poacher tho' he is,
As he gangs drookit by your toon,
A dram for bringin' this:
An' for oorsel's—we'll play the joke
We've play'd sae aften noo:
Drink up to me at aucht o'clock,
And I'll drink doun to you!
66
Hughie in Murnins: he Laments the Loss o' his Frien' Andro.
“Ergo Quinctilium perpetuus sopor
Urget!”
—Car. i. 24.
Urget!”
—Car. i. 24.
What man or minister 'ill dare
Haud oot his haund, an' cry Forbear!
This wild, this waefu' sorrow spare;
It's Nature's debt?
But I will band an' weepers wear
For Andro yet!
Haud oot his haund, an' cry Forbear!
This wild, this waefu' sorrow spare;
It's Nature's debt?
But I will band an' weepers wear
For Andro yet!
O for the wail o' Autumn wun's,
An' trees, an' seas, an' settin' suns,
An' melancholy muirlan' whuns,
An' hillside sadness!
O for the greetin' voice that runs
Thro' Nature's gladness!
An' trees, an' seas, an' settin' suns,
An' melancholy muirlan' whuns,
An' hillside sadness!
O for the greetin' voice that runs
Thro' Nature's gladness!
67
So Andro's gane! the last lang sleep
Has fa'en upon him, an' he's deep!
An' noo he doesna hear a cheep
O' a' we're talkin';
An' we in vain a watch wad keep
For him to wauken.
Has fa'en upon him, an' he's deep!
An' noo he doesna hear a cheep
O' a' we're talkin';
An' we in vain a watch wad keep
For him to wauken.
It's no' the stroke, tho' fell an' grim,
The bosom cauld, the moveless limb,
That melt an' mak oor een sae dim,
Oor heart sae sair—
But oh! what virtues sleep wi' him
That's lyin' there!
The bosom cauld, the moveless limb,
That melt an' mak oor een sae dim,
Oor heart sae sair—
But oh! what virtues sleep wi' him
That's lyin' there!
He was sae modest an' sae true—
Truth was engraven on his broo!
Strict wi' himsel', an' slack wi' you,
An' even-mindit:
His peer, search a' the parish thro',
Ye wadna find it!
Truth was engraven on his broo!
Strict wi' himsel', an' slack wi' you,
An' even-mindit:
His peer, search a' the parish thro',
Ye wadna find it!
68
An' noo he's gane! he's crost the mark
Atween us an' that ocean dark,
Whereon some day oor ain frail bark
Maun sink or sail;
But here nae mair again we'll hark
His kindly hail.
Atween us an' that ocean dark,
Whereon some day oor ain frail bark
Maun sink or sail;
But here nae mair again we'll hark
His kindly hail.
69
Hughie's Appraisement of the Ochils.
“Aurum irrepertum et sic melius situm,
Quum terra celat, spernere fortior
Quam cogere, humanos in usus
Omne sacrum rapiente dextra.”
—Car. iii. 3.
Quum terra celat, spernere fortior
Quam cogere, humanos in usus
Omne sacrum rapiente dextra.”
—Car. iii. 3.
Wi' couthie farms an' faulds adorn'd,
An' hirsels without number;
Wi' hummelt kye an' kyloes horn'd,
Red, yellow, black, and umber;
And, abune a', wi' bannet lairds,
The cocks o' the creation—
Heaven spare their patriarchal beards,
An' speed their generation!
What hills are like the Ochil hills,
Unless it be the Lomon'?
And whaur on earth are sweeter rills
To daunder by i' gloamin'?
An' hirsels without number;
Wi' hummelt kye an' kyloes horn'd,
Red, yellow, black, and umber;
And, abune a', wi' bannet lairds,
The cocks o' the creation—
Heaven spare their patriarchal beards,
An' speed their generation!
What hills are like the Ochil hills,
Unless it be the Lomon'?
And whaur on earth are sweeter rills
To daunder by i' gloamin'?
70
Their caller side the Allan cools,
Their sunny side the Devon,
Wi' dusky plumms an' crystal pools,
Reflecting hill and heaven.
Hoo sweet their waters to the ee,
Or round the ankles playin',
Or mairried to the barley-bree,
The fisher's thirst allayin'!
Gang freely, fishers, by their banks,
Baith foreign loons an' locals,
An' fling your flees, an' breathe your thanks,
That Nature made the Ochils!
Their sunny side the Devon,
Wi' dusky plumms an' crystal pools,
Reflecting hill and heaven.
Hoo sweet their waters to the ee,
Or round the ankles playin',
Or mairried to the barley-bree,
The fisher's thirst allayin'!
Gang freely, fishers, by their banks,
Baith foreign loons an' locals,
An' fling your flees, an' breathe your thanks,
That Nature made the Ochils!
Wha wadna keep this rampart free,
That rises green amang us?
What ither haunt or howff hae we
When warld's cares owregang us?
It's something to escape the stoor
The fecht wi' fortune raises,
An' rin a laddie for an hoor
Barefit amang the daisies.
But here-streek oot your shanks at lairge;
There's no' a buird to stay ye;
Nor menace o' a trespass chairge,
Nor upstart to nay-say ye.
There's no' a biggin' wi' a ruif,
But mak's ye welcome hither;
There's no a farmer wi' a luif,
But grips ye like a brither.
There's no' a tyke that has a tail
But waves 'd aloft to greet ye;
The very fanners and the flail
Are whirlin' mad to meet ye!
That rises green amang us?
What ither haunt or howff hae we
When warld's cares owregang us?
It's something to escape the stoor
The fecht wi' fortune raises,
An' rin a laddie for an hoor
Barefit amang the daisies.
71
There's no' a buird to stay ye;
Nor menace o' a trespass chairge,
Nor upstart to nay-say ye.
There's no' a biggin' wi' a ruif,
But mak's ye welcome hither;
There's no a farmer wi' a luif,
But grips ye like a brither.
There's no' a tyke that has a tail
But waves 'd aloft to greet ye;
The very fanners and the flail
Are whirlin' mad to meet ye!
Heaven keep the Ochil rampart free,
That rises green amang us!
What better randyvoo could be,
If fate or folly dang us?
May never tunnel pierce its hert,
Nor mill nor mine disturb it,
But Nature flourish here, and Airt
Keep in her Lowland orbit.
Ae moodiewart there was that socht
To mine an' mak' a gain o't;
Thank Heaven! his howkin' cam' to nocht,
He'd naething but the pain o't.
But had that limmer ha'en the power—
We ken what bizz'd in he's caip!
He'd whummled the haill Ochils ower
As I would cowp a beeskep!
But what does impious Folly care
For happy habitations?
She'd overturn a palace fair
To seize on the foundations.
That rises green amang us!
What better randyvoo could be,
If fate or folly dang us?
May never tunnel pierce its hert,
Nor mill nor mine disturb it,
But Nature flourish here, and Airt
Keep in her Lowland orbit.
72
To mine an' mak' a gain o't;
Thank Heaven! his howkin' cam' to nocht,
He'd naething but the pain o't.
But had that limmer ha'en the power—
We ken what bizz'd in he's caip!
He'd whummled the haill Ochils ower
As I would cowp a beeskep!
But what does impious Folly care
For happy habitations?
She'd overturn a palace fair
To seize on the foundations.
[_]
Note.—For the moodiewart, see ‘Scotland and Scotsmen in the Eighteenth Century.’ He was Lord Tinwald, whose unforgivable sin it was to say that “if one could turn over the Ochils like a beehive, something worth while in minerals might be got.”
73
The Dog-Days: Hughie's Invitation to a Weaver Friend.
“Adduxere sitim tempora, Virgili!”
—Car. iv. 12.
—Car. iv. 12.
An' noo the dog-days an' their ills
Come on us fra the sooth,
An' we wha live amang the hills
Are a' brunt up wi' drooth!
Come on us fra the sooth,
An' we wha live amang the hills
Are a' brunt up wi' drooth!
The kye are stan'in' i' the linns,
Or tiggin' owre the braes;
An' oor wee laddie-herd—he rins
Skeer nakit, wantin' claes!
Or tiggin' owre the braes;
An' oor wee laddie-herd—he rins
Skeer nakit, wantin' claes!
Noo, Wull, ye auld divertin' loon,
Nae wonder nor you're thin;
I meikle fear the smoory toon
Has left ye nocht but skin!
Nae wonder nor you're thin;
I meikle fear the smoory toon
Has left ye nocht but skin!
74
Lay aff your apron, an' your care,
Till a' this heat be by;
An' come an' see hoo we folk fare
That live by sheep an' kye.
Till a' this heat be by;
An' come an' see hoo we folk fare
That live by sheep an' kye.
That hide o' yours, ye willow wand!
I'll mak' a couthie place for't;
And bring a lemon i' your hand,
We'll aiblins find a use for't.
I'll mak' a couthie place for't;
And bring a lemon i' your hand,
We'll aiblins find a use for't.
There's folk that ca' a dram a crime—
Their virtue's cheap, I'm thinkin';
At least it's pleasant, and the time
Seems to invite to drinkin'!
Their virtue's cheap, I'm thinkin';
At least it's pleasant, and the time
Seems to invite to drinkin'!
77
Hughie's Dedication.
“Vester, Camenæ, vester in arduos
Tollor Sabinos.”
—Car. iii. 4.
Tollor Sabinos.”
—Car. iii. 4.
Whether alang the tawny bent
Diffused in simmer time,
Or like a mountain torrent pent
In city stane an' lime,—
While fickle seasons tak' the gate
Owre passive wud an' lea,
My lease o' life I dedicate,
Sweet Poesy, to thee.
Diffused in simmer time,
Or like a mountain torrent pent
In city stane an' lime,—
While fickle seasons tak' the gate
Owre passive wud an' lea,
My lease o' life I dedicate,
Sweet Poesy, to thee.
Noo weirdless Winter wi' his waste
Shall trouble me nae mair,
Nor joys that to destruction haste
Oppress my soul wi' care.
For wild amang the roarin' floods,
Yet sweet, I hear thee sing,
And in the cleavin' o' the cluds
I see thy soarin' wing.
Shall trouble me nae mair,
Nor joys that to destruction haste
Oppress my soul wi' care.
78
Yet sweet, I hear thee sing,
And in the cleavin' o' the cluds
I see thy soarin' wing.
Sweet Poesy! with thee to range
Owre field and forest free,
An' fearless aye o' earthly change,
Were happiness to me!
An' when at last wi' kindly gloom
The gloamin' comes, to ken
That death is ither than a doom
Unto the sons o' men!
Owre field and forest free,
An' fearless aye o' earthly change,
Were happiness to me!
An' when at last wi' kindly gloom
The gloamin' comes, to ken
That death is ither than a doom
Unto the sons o' men!
79
Hughie's Advice to auld Tammy to tak' the Use o' his Savings.
“Linquenda tellus et domus.”
—Car. ii. 14.
—Car. ii. 14.
Ye're agein', Tammy, agein' fast,
The season o' your strength is past;
Ye're white but whaur ye're bauld;
The footmarks o' the craw are seen
Aboot the corners o' your een—
Ye're auld, my frien', ye're auld!
There's some that on life's mornin' road
Fall in their glorious strength,
An' some, like you, that bear the load
O' life the weary length;
But hame still, the same still,
We've a' to find oor way;
What maitter tho' later
Or earlier in the day?
The season o' your strength is past;
Ye're white but whaur ye're bauld;
The footmarks o' the craw are seen
Aboot the corners o' your een—
Ye're auld, my frien', ye're auld!
There's some that on life's mornin' road
Fall in their glorious strength,
An' some, like you, that bear the load
O' life the weary length;
But hame still, the same still,
We've a' to find oor way;
What maitter tho' later
Or earlier in the day?
80
Tammy, ye've lived to be a laird,
Ye awn a stane house, an' a yaird
Wi' fruit-trees on your wa';
Ye keep a powny, an' ye've kye,
Ye've siller i' the bank forbye—
Ye'll need to leave it a'!
What need ye, then, to strive an' strain,
An' fret your saul wi' care,
To gaither gear an' treasure gain
A' for a spendthrift heir?
He's waitin', like Satan,
But if he ance win in,
He'll dance throu't, an' prance throu't,
An' scatter't a' like sin!
Ye awn a stane house, an' a yaird
Wi' fruit-trees on your wa';
Ye keep a powny, an' ye've kye,
Ye've siller i' the bank forbye—
Ye'll need to leave it a'!
What need ye, then, to strive an' strain,
An' fret your saul wi' care,
To gaither gear an' treasure gain
A' for a spendthrift heir?
He's waitin', like Satan,
But if he ance win in,
He'll dance throu't, an' prance throu't,
An' scatter't a' like sin!
83
Hughie driven in by a Tempest: he Defies the Elements from behind a Jorum.
“Rapiamus, amici,
Occasionem de die, dumque virent genua.”
—Car. v. 13.
Occasionem de die, dumque virent genua.”
—Car. v. 13.
An angry tempest, roarin' lood,
Is broken lowse an' ragin' free;
The knock-wud groans wi' anguish boo'd,
An' rocks an' writhes the moanin' sea.
See whaur in whirlin' shooers they flee,
The sprays o' ocean, owre the main!
See whaur the leaves o' buss an' tree
Gang streamin', streamin' owre the plain!
Is broken lowse an' ragin' free;
The knock-wud groans wi' anguish boo'd,
An' rocks an' writhes the moanin' sea.
See whaur in whirlin' shooers they flee,
The sprays o' ocean, owre the main!
See whaur the leaves o' buss an' tree
Gang streamin', streamin' owre the plain!
Let's tak' occasion fra the day
To triumph owre a thrawart fate,
An', ere auld age forbid we may,
Assert oor independent state.
The wun's that at the wundie beat
May tame the tod an' cowe the craw;
But we, wha rank a higher rate,
Will lauch at Winter's wildest blaw!
To triumph owre a thrawart fate,
An', ere auld age forbid we may,
Assert oor independent state.
84
May tame the tod an' cowe the craw;
But we, wha rank a higher rate,
Will lauch at Winter's wildest blaw!
Bring oot the jorum! there's a drap
That should be gurglin' i' the wime o't;
An', while the storm flees owre oor tap,
We'll toom the cog, an' hae a time o't!
A cheerfu' quaich—an' whaur's the crime o't?
Or maybe twa—we'll no' get fou!
Droon Daddy Care, an' mak' a rhyme o't,
An' face the warl' the morn anew!
That should be gurglin' i' the wime o't;
An', while the storm flees owre oor tap,
We'll toom the cog, an' hae a time o't!
A cheerfu' quaich—an' whaur's the crime o't?
Or maybe twa—we'll no' get fou!
Droon Daddy Care, an' mak' a rhyme o't,
An' face the warl' the morn anew!
85
Hughie Flatters Saunders with an Ironical Description of Himself.
“Nec si quid olim lusit Anacreon,
Delevit ætas.”
—Car. iv. 9.
Delevit ætas.”
—Car. iv. 9.
I tune my pipe to Doric strains
Wi' great gudewill, an' meikle pains,
Altho' my skill be like my gains—
Baith unco sma';
An' yet a something too remains
Ahint the blaw.
Wi' great gudewill, an' meikle pains,
Altho' my skill be like my gains—
Baith unco sma';
An' yet a something too remains
Ahint the blaw.
It's no' for a' the pipin' crew
To blaw sic strains as Robbie blew;
It's no' for ilka bard to pu'
A branch sae green
As cleeds wi' laurel Robbie's broo
Doun to the een.
To blaw sic strains as Robbie blew;
It's no' for ilka bard to pu'
A branch sae green
As cleeds wi' laurel Robbie's broo
Doun to the een.
86
Yet humbler menstrils hae their meed;
There's Allan wi' his rural reed,
An' Fergusson, sae fain to lead,
Sae sune to fa',
An' Jamie Hogg, a border breed,
An' Paisley's twa.
There's Allan wi' his rural reed,
An' Fergusson, sae fain to lead,
Sae sune to fa',
An' Jamie Hogg, a border breed,
An' Paisley's twa.
Forbye the bards that aulder are,
Like Barbour, an' the bauld Dunbar,
An' Lyndsay—wha in Fife wad daur
His name forget?
A' haill, an' scarce a hair the waur,
An' pipin' yet!
Like Barbour, an' the bauld Dunbar,
An' Lyndsay—wha in Fife wad daur
His name forget?
A' haill, an' scarce a hair the waur,
An' pipin' yet!
Such recompense the Muses gie
The Makkars a' in their degree,
That neither they themsels' can dee,
Nor what they notice;
While what they slicht, or dinna see,
Quickly forgot is.
The Makkars a' in their degree,
That neither they themsels' can dee,
Nor what they notice;
While what they slicht, or dinna see,
Quickly forgot is.
87
Brave men were born before the Bruce;
An' mony an auld heroic Hoose
Has slippit past Oblivion's sluice,
An' ne'er a wird o't!
They did braw things to little use—
We never heard o't!
An' mony an auld heroic Hoose
Has slippit past Oblivion's sluice,
An' ne'er a wird o't!
They did braw things to little use—
We never heard o't!
An', therefore, Saunders, when ye gang,—
But late may that day be, an' lang!—
I promise ye a bur'al sang
As sune's we've tint ye,
To keep your name amon' the thrang
That comes ahint ye.
But late may that day be, an' lang!—
I promise ye a bur'al sang
As sune's we've tint ye,
To keep your name amon' the thrang
That comes ahint ye.
I'll tell them o' your noble heart,
An' hoo ye took the puir man's pairt,
An' garr'd a greedy rascal smairt,
A graspin' cratur';
I'll spread abroad wi' a' my airt
Your generous natur'.
An' hoo ye took the puir man's pairt,
An' garr'd a greedy rascal smairt,
A graspin' cratur';
I'll spread abroad wi' a' my airt
Your generous natur'.
88
I'll sing your noble confidence
An' trust in man; your common-sense,
That lat ye see thro' a' pretence,
And smile to see't;
I'll sing the virtues that gaed hence
When Saunders dee'd.
An' trust in man; your common-sense,
That lat ye see thro' a' pretence,
And smile to see't;
I'll sing the virtues that gaed hence
When Saunders dee'd.
Per Contra.—
[Rin, little postscripp, rin an' tell
That Saunders as he's drawn's a sell,
For Saunders crams into a shell
His sordid natur',
Cheats, an' distrusts, an' is himsel'
The graspin' cratur'!]
That Saunders as he's drawn's a sell,
For Saunders crams into a shell
His sordid natur',
Cheats, an' distrusts, an' is himsel'
The graspin' cratur'!]
89
Hughie's Advice to his Brother John.
“Omnes eodem cogimur.”
—Car. ii. 3.
—Car. ii. 3.
Dear Jock, ye're higher up the brae
Than me, your aulder brither—
Keep mind the higher up ye gae
The mair ye're in the weather.
I'm no' misdootin' that ye're wice,
An', for your ploo-share, speed it!
But I may better gi'e advice,
An' ye may better need it.
Than me, your aulder brither—
Keep mind the higher up ye gae
The mair ye're in the weather.
I'm no' misdootin' that ye're wice,
An', for your ploo-share, speed it!
But I may better gi'e advice,
An' ye may better need it.
The higher up the brae ye speel
The farrer it's below ye,—
Tak' tent ye dinna gi'e the deil
Occasion to dounthrow ye.
Be douce an' ceevil wi' success,
For Fortune's no' to trust aye;
Then if your head should tak' the gress,
Ye're whaur ye were at first aye.
The farrer it's below ye,—
Tak' tent ye dinna gi'e the deil
Occasion to dounthrow ye.
90
For Fortune's no' to trust aye;
Then if your head should tak' the gress,
Ye're whaur ye were at first aye.
An honest fa', wi' conscience clear,
It never brak' a bane yet;
There's aye the honest course to steer
For a' that's come an' gane yet.
But letna lucre be your aim,
Pursued thro' thick an' thin aye;
The honour o' an honest name,
That's what you first should win aye.
It never brak' a bane yet;
There's aye the honest course to steer
For a' that's come an' gane yet.
But letna lucre be your aim,
Pursued thro' thick an' thin aye;
The honour o' an honest name,
That's what you first should win aye.
For happiness (to God be thanks!)
Is no' the gift o' Fortun';
Wi' place the limmer plays her pranks,
Wi' men like puppets sportin'—
Rich folk lookin' idly on
At puir folk busy dargin'—
But happiness, my brither John,
It wasna in the bargain.
Is no' the gift o' Fortun';
Wi' place the limmer plays her pranks,
Wi' men like puppets sportin'—
Rich folk lookin' idly on
At puir folk busy dargin'—
But happiness, my brither John,
It wasna in the bargain.
91
The ups an' douns o' human life
Are like a fairy revel;
But a' the warld, an' his wife,
Maun lie at ae great level.
An' that's a thocht for me an' you
When Fate's awards perplex us;
In calm eternity's wide view
There's little that should vex us.
Are like a fairy revel;
But a' the warld, an' his wife,
Maun lie at ae great level.
An' that's a thocht for me an' you
When Fate's awards perplex us;
In calm eternity's wide view
There's little that should vex us.
Fate's like the waves beneath the moon,
An' we like vessels ridin';
It's up an' doon, an' up an' doon,
An' here there's nae abidin';
But on the far horizon's edge,
To which we're ever driftin',
The changes on Life's pilgrimage
Are but a paltry shiftin'.
An' we like vessels ridin';
It's up an' doon, an' up an' doon,
An' here there's nae abidin';
But on the far horizon's edge,
To which we're ever driftin',
The changes on Life's pilgrimage
Are but a paltry shiftin'.
92
Hughie's Flight as an Eagle.
“Jam jam residunt cruribus aspera.”
—Car. ii. 20.
—Car. ii. 20.
The bards are birds, an' born to flee!
If I were ane, an' choice were free,
I'd be an Eagle! wha but he
To rule the air!
The very sun wi' open ee
He can ootstare!
If I were ane, an' choice were free,
I'd be an Eagle! wha but he
To rule the air!
The very sun wi' open ee
He can ootstare!
His flicht is owre the cluds o' heaven;
He screams abune the flashin' levin,
That sends the wee fools, terror-driven,
Hame when they see't;
The heichest hills are thunder-riven
Aneth his feet!
He screams abune the flashin' levin,
That sends the wee fools, terror-driven,
Hame when they see't;
The heichest hills are thunder-riven
Aneth his feet!
93
Nae peer has he; an' wha wad daur
The rushin' o' his wings in war?
Or seek wi' impious bolt to bar
His plumag'd pride?
Nae fear has he; his flicht is far,
His empire wide.
The rushin' o' his wings in war?
Or seek wi' impious bolt to bar
His plumag'd pride?
Nae fear has he; his flicht is far,
His empire wide.
Already doun my sides I feel
The feathers creepin'! on my heel
A spur sticks oot as sharp as steel!
My wings are risin'!
I'm ready for the lift! fareweel!
I'm aff, bird-guizin'.
The feathers creepin'! on my heel
A spur sticks oot as sharp as steel!
My wings are risin'!
I'm ready for the lift! fareweel!
I'm aff, bird-guizin'.
Wi' ae waff o' my wings I soar
A mile abune the city's roar;
Then round the globe, shore after shore,
Wi' pinions regal,
I flee a strang flicht wi' the core,
A brither eagle!
A mile abune the city's roar;
Then round the globe, shore after shore,
Wi' pinions regal,
I flee a strang flicht wi' the core,
A brither eagle!
94
Homer flees first—for wha wad seek
To tak' that honour fra the Greek?
Then Pindar wi' triumphant beak
An' bluidy talons,—
Tho', whyles, he whummles wi' a shriek
Clean aff his balance!
To tak' that honour fra the Greek?
Then Pindar wi' triumphant beak
An' bluidy talons,—
Tho', whyles, he whummles wi' a shriek
Clean aff his balance!
Then comes a lower flicht, but still
Far, far abune oor loftiest hill;
Yon's Virgil wi' his weel-preen'd quill
Alangside Horace;
A band o' Eaglets screamin' shrill
Comes next in chorus.
Far, far abune oor loftiest hill;
Yon's Virgil wi' his weel-preen'd quill
Alangside Horace;
A band o' Eaglets screamin' shrill
Comes next in chorus.
But wha is this wi' brunt ee-bree,
An' scowther'd on the wings awee?
It's Dante: he delichts to flee
A' by himsel'.
The fire that's in his flamin' ee
He stole fra hell!
An' scowther'd on the wings awee?
It's Dante: he delichts to flee
A' by himsel'.
The fire that's in his flamin' ee
He stole fra hell!
95
An' yonder, noo, ye may descry
Shakespeare an' Milton ridin' by,
Dimmin' the haill dome o' the sky,
Their ain dominion;
While far within their shadow I
Streek oot my pinion.
Shakespeare an' Milton ridin' by,
Dimmin' the haill dome o' the sky,
Their ain dominion;
While far within their shadow I
Streek oot my pinion.
But yet it's grand to sail the air
Altho' a mile aneth the pair,—
To flap your wings owre earthly care,
Owre kirk an' steeple,
An' see them point Lo here! lo there!
The gapin' people.
Altho' a mile aneth the pair,—
To flap your wings owre earthly care,
Owre kirk an' steeple,
An' see them point Lo here! lo there!
The gapin' people.
Nae mound nor monument for me!
An Eagle-poet canna dee!
But when the lightnin' flashes free,
The tempest sings,
Look up, an' in the tumult see
My soarin' wings!
An Eagle-poet canna dee!
But when the lightnin' flashes free,
The tempest sings,
Look up, an' in the tumult see
My soarin' wings!
96
Hughie Remonstrates with Davie— a Dour Critic.
“Si me lyricis vatibus inseres!”
—Car. i. 1.
—Car. i. 1.
Man, Davie, had I but the art
To pierce that stane ye ca' your heart
Wi' the clear dart o' poesie,
A prooder man there wadna be.
For weel it's kent thro' a' the toun
That nane can rise that ye ca' doun;
While him that by the haund ye tak'—
He'll neither fame nor fortune lack;
His ballants—thro' the touns they'll cry them,
An' weaver bodies rin to buy them.
To pierce that stane ye ca' your heart
Wi' the clear dart o' poesie,
A prooder man there wadna be.
For weel it's kent thro' a' the toun
That nane can rise that ye ca' doun;
While him that by the haund ye tak'—
He'll neither fame nor fortune lack;
His ballants—thro' the touns they'll cry them,
An' weaver bodies rin to buy them.
99
There's twa-three praise me, too, it's true,
But what are they when wantin' you?
There's Johnny o' the Windyknowe—
A blessin' on his auld beld pow!
Wi' kindly hail whene'er he meets me
He grips me by the haund, an' greets me.
“Shakspere!” says Johnnie, “gie's a swatch o't!
Weel dune, my bairn! ye hae the catch o't—
This dings the lave!” But that's nae test,
For aye wi' him the last's the best!
But what are they when wantin' you?
There's Johnny o' the Windyknowe—
A blessin' on his auld beld pow!
Wi' kindly hail whene'er he meets me
He grips me by the haund, an' greets me.
“Shakspere!” says Johnnie, “gie's a swatch o't!
Weel dune, my bairn! ye hae the catch o't—
This dings the lave!” But that's nae test,
For aye wi' him the last's the best!
There's Geordie, too, my second cousin—
His praise is waur to me than pousin;
He kens a stirk, but for a sang
He's never richt but when he's wrang!
His praise is waur to me than pousin;
He kens a stirk, but for a sang
He's never richt but when he's wrang!
There's a few mair that I could name,
There's Tam the farrier, an' Jame;
But Jame's my brither, an' for Tam—
Ye'll buy his judgment wi' a dram.
There's Tam the farrier, an' Jame;
But Jame's my brither, an' for Tam—
Ye'll buy his judgment wi' a dram.
100
Man, Davie! if ye wad but praise me,
Ye wad' as wi' a windlass raise me
Oot o' the slough o' doot I'm in,
An' set me on a road to rin!
Ye wad' as wi' a windlass raise me
Oot o' the slough o' doot I'm in,
An' set me on a road to rin!
Just cast your een abroad an' see
Hoo everybody's pleased but me;
They've a' some hobby to amuse them,
Folk to look on an' frien's to roose them,
An' weel contentit there they ride,
An' lauch, an' let the warld slide.
An' I ana' wad hae my treasure,
An' poetry wad be my pleasure,
If ye wad only bend your ee
An' blink approval ance on me!
Hoo everybody's pleased but me;
They've a' some hobby to amuse them,
Folk to look on an' frien's to roose them,
An' weel contentit there they ride,
An' lauch, an' let the warld slide.
An' I ana' wad hae my treasure,
An' poetry wad be my pleasure,
If ye wad only bend your ee
An' blink approval ance on me!
To be a bandsman pleases some,
To toot the horn or beat the drum;
Even little Jock that ca's the mangle—
Saturday comes, an' the triangle,
An' then sae manfu' as he strides
An' tingles on its yetlan' sides!
To toot the horn or beat the drum;
Even little Jock that ca's the mangle—
Saturday comes, an' the triangle,
An' then sae manfu' as he strides
An' tingles on its yetlan' sides!
101
An' weel ye ken that Pate Macdougal
Wad blaw his soul into a bugle;
That thrice thro' jealousy the wife
O' Dempster kickit Dempster's fife;
An' weel-a-wat the coonty kens
When Sandie Brand ca'd oot the brains
O' his black fiddle at the fair,
An' swore he ne'er wad fiddle mair,—
Altho' he “d—d if he was carin',”
Sober he sabbit like a bairn!
Wad blaw his soul into a bugle;
That thrice thro' jealousy the wife
O' Dempster kickit Dempster's fife;
An' weel-a-wat the coonty kens
When Sandie Brand ca'd oot the brains
O' his black fiddle at the fair,
An' swore he ne'er wad fiddle mair,—
Altho' he “d—d if he was carin',”
Sober he sabbit like a bairn!
Ithers again for weeks are chammber'd
Glowerin' wi' hawks' een on a damberd.
Glowerin' wi' hawks' een on a damberd.
Some at the gowfin' spend their leisure;
To some the rifle-range gie's pleasure;
Quoits or the puttin' stane has charms
For steady een an' sturdy arms.
O then to see oor noble smith
Tak' up the ball to prove his pith!
Hark hoo it whizzes thro' the air—
He's foremost by an ell or mair.
To some the rifle-range gie's pleasure;
Quoits or the puttin' stane has charms
For steady een an' sturdy arms.
O then to see oor noble smith
Tak' up the ball to prove his pith!
Hark hoo it whizzes thro' the air—
He's foremost by an ell or mair.
102
The slater, tae, we maunna slicht,—
He drave the pin clean oot o' sicht,
An' when wi' shools they howkit for 't,
Darkness cam' on, an' spoiled the sport.
Nane to this day can understand it—
They howkit, but they never fand it!
He drave the pin clean oot o' sicht,
An' when wi' shools they howkit for 't,
Darkness cam' on, an' spoiled the sport.
Nane to this day can understand it—
They howkit, but they never fand it!
For me—gin I had but the art
To pierce that whinstane o' your heart,
An' bring the sparkle to your ee—
A happier man there wadna be!
Noo, Davie, dinna crook your mou'—
A wird o' praise is sweet fra you!
To pierce that whinstane o' your heart,
An' bring the sparkle to your ee—
A happier man there wadna be!
Noo, Davie, dinna crook your mou'—
A wird o' praise is sweet fra you!
103
Hughie in Love with a Shrew.
“Urit grata protervitas.”
—Car. i. 19.
—Car. i. 19.
I've nocht to wreak mysel' upon,
An' wark I dinna fancy,
Sae I'll sit doun an' hae a groan
Aboot my cruel Nancy.
She thraw'd her head when late yestreen
I telt her I was deein'—
Either she disna care a preen,
Or else she kens I'm leein'.
An' wark I dinna fancy,
Sae I'll sit doun an' hae a groan
Aboot my cruel Nancy.
She thraw'd her head when late yestreen
I telt her I was deein'—
Either she disna care a preen,
Or else she kens I'm leein'.
O Nancy, but your hert's as hard
An' cauld as kirkyaird granite;
'Deed, whyles I think the nicht ill-starr'd
That saw me brak' wi' Janet!
She's neither cuist me glance o' grace
Nor shown me ceevil favour;
The wooer's is a dootfu' case
That builds on that behavour!
An' cauld as kirkyaird granite;
'Deed, whyles I think the nicht ill-starr'd
That saw me brak' wi' Janet!
104
Nor shown me ceevil favour;
The wooer's is a dootfu' case
That builds on that behavour!
Nae ither lad that awns a dug,
But Sandie, ever socht her;
She flang a leglen at his lug,
As weel's the nits he brocht her.
She hasna tried thir tricks on me;
She'd find it—no' sae chancy;
An' that's what gars me houp to see
My waddin'-day wi' Nancy!
But Sandie, ever socht her;
She flang a leglen at his lug,
As weel's the nits he brocht her.
She hasna tried thir tricks on me;
She'd find it—no' sae chancy;
An' that's what gars me houp to see
My waddin'-day wi' Nancy!
107
Hughie's Spring Sunshine dashed wi' Shadow.
“Solvitur acris hiems gratâ vice veris et Favoni.”
—Car. i. 4.
—Car. i. 4.
The winter ice is breakin' up,
The wast wind whistlin' cracks his whup,
An' noo ye hear their Hi! woa! h'up!
(Pleasant the hearin'!)
As plooman-lads wi' steady grup
Draw oot their feerin'.
The wast wind whistlin' cracks his whup,
An' noo ye hear their Hi! woa! h'up!
(Pleasant the hearin'!)
As plooman-lads wi' steady grup
Draw oot their feerin'.
An' now ere lang we'll see the flooers
Drawn fra the divots by the shooers,
An' saft winds hing the plantin' booers
Wi' leaves that rustle,
An' lav'rocks to the lift a' 'oors
Flee up, an' whistle.
Drawn fra the divots by the shooers,
An' saft winds hing the plantin' booers
Wi' leaves that rustle,
An' lav'rocks to the lift a' 'oors
Flee up, an' whistle.
108
It's braw an' blithesome i' the spring
To see the joy o' everything:
Dance, bairns an' bodies! loup an' sing!
Ye dae't wi' reason;
Whatever joyous thocht ye bring,
It comes in season.
To see the joy o' everything:
Dance, bairns an' bodies! loup an' sing!
Ye dae't wi' reason;
Whatever joyous thocht ye bring,
It comes in season.
Dance while ye can, sing while ye may,
For human life's a shortliv'd day;
Owre sune, owre sune the gloamin' gray
Creeps cauld athort it,
An' we at rest oor limbs maun lay
Whaur late we sportit!
For human life's a shortliv'd day;
Owre sune, owre sune the gloamin' gray
Creeps cauld athort it,
An' we at rest oor limbs maun lay
Whaur late we sportit!
109
A Weet Hairst: Hughie condoles wi' Saundie.
“Aquosus Eurus arva radat imbribus.”
—Epod. 16.
—Epod. 16.
Saundie, my frien'! I ken it's sair,
I ken fu' weel your basket's bare,
Your store o' savin's toom;
I'm wae to see your waefu' looks
Oot-ower the fields o' draiglit stooks,
An' fodder, fit to soom!
Wi' markets cheap and wages dear,
Ye've been at mickle cost;
An' here's the hervest o' the year,
An' a' your labour lost!
Perplexin' an' vexin'
The ways o' Nature seem;
The haste o't, the waste o't,
It's like an evil dream!
I ken fu' weel your basket's bare,
Your store o' savin's toom;
I'm wae to see your waefu' looks
Oot-ower the fields o' draiglit stooks,
An' fodder, fit to soom!
Wi' markets cheap and wages dear,
Ye've been at mickle cost;
An' here's the hervest o' the year,
An' a' your labour lost!
Perplexin' an' vexin'
The ways o' Nature seem;
The haste o't, the waste o't,
It's like an evil dream!
110
What touch o' comfort can ye feel?
It's sad, it's angersome atweel,
To think that folk like you,
Wha saw'd gude seed in gude dry laund,
An' spared nae sweat o' head or haund,
In hopes to cairry thro'—
Wha watched it fra the wee green breer
To Autumn's stately show
O' mony a gallant gowden spear
In serried rank an' row—
Maun see't noo and dree't noo,
Lie rottin' i' the rain!
The mense o't, the sense o't,
Nae mortal can explain!
It's sad, it's angersome atweel,
To think that folk like you,
Wha saw'd gude seed in gude dry laund,
An' spared nae sweat o' head or haund,
In hopes to cairry thro'—
Wha watched it fra the wee green breer
To Autumn's stately show
O' mony a gallant gowden spear
In serried rank an' row—
Maun see't noo and dree't noo,
Lie rottin' i' the rain!
The mense o't, the sense o't,
Nae mortal can explain!
But human reason's but a spark,
A can'le's glimmer i' the dark;
An' he's the wiser wicht
Wha doots his wisdom and his sense,
An' puts his trust in Providence
Till dawns the dear daylicht.
Saundie, my frien'! a bairn-like faith
That a'thing's for your gude
Will lead ye safe thro' life an' death,
Thro' fear o' fire an' flude.
Tho' crosses, an' losses,
Mar a' the life o' men,
They're sent till's; their end till's
We'll aiblins ae day ken.
A can'le's glimmer i' the dark;
An' he's the wiser wicht
Wha doots his wisdom and his sense,
An' puts his trust in Providence
Till dawns the dear daylicht.
113
That a'thing's for your gude
Will lead ye safe thro' life an' death,
Thro' fear o' fire an' flude.
Tho' crosses, an' losses,
Mar a' the life o' men,
They're sent till's; their end till's
We'll aiblins ae day ken.
114
Hughie's Advice to Tammie to live less for the Future and more for the Present.
“Carpe diem!”
—Car. i. 11.
—Car. i. 11.
Gie owre thae wild uncanny looks,
That trokin' wi' the deevil's books,
That doctorin' o' yoursel' wi' simples
(It only fills your face wi' pimples!),
An' learn to live like ither folk
Whas' trust is in their aitmeal poke!
That trokin' wi' the deevil's books,
That doctorin' o' yoursel' wi' simples
(It only fills your face wi' pimples!),
An' learn to live like ither folk
Whas' trust is in their aitmeal poke!
Ye winna grow ae bit the stranger,
Ye winna live ae 'oor the langer,
For a' your deep-laid calculations,
Your cairds an' left-loof consultations,
Your herbs an' drogs, your drinks an' plaisters,
An' a' your ither unkent slaisters!
Ye'll live nae langer an' nae less
Than a' your days, ye maun confess.
Ye winna live ae 'oor the langer,
For a' your deep-laid calculations,
Your cairds an' left-loof consultations,
117
An' a' your ither unkent slaisters!
Ye'll live nae langer an' nae less
Than a' your days, ye maun confess.
But surely it's the manlier gate
To wait wi' patience on your fate—
To sup your parritch, tak' your smoke,
An' dee at last like ither folk!
This eager wish o' yours to scan
The future—will't prolong your span?
It's far frae gude, it's doonricht bad,
Half-irreligious an' half-mad!
To wait wi' patience on your fate—
To sup your parritch, tak' your smoke,
An' dee at last like ither folk!
This eager wish o' yours to scan
The future—will't prolong your span?
It's far frae gude, it's doonricht bad,
Half-irreligious an' half-mad!
What better wad ye be to ken
Hoo mony years ye've yet to spen'?
For what there's o't ye couldna strengthen 't
An' owre the score ye couldna lengthen 't!
Ye'd only live a life dementit,
An' dee alane an' unlamentit.
Hoo mony years ye've yet to spen'?
For what there's o't ye couldna strengthen 't
An' owre the score ye couldna lengthen 't!
Ye'd only live a life dementit,
An' dee alane an' unlamentit.
Tammy, my man! tak' my advice,
An' follow 't, an' we'll ca' ye wice:
Draw in your hopes, an' keep your fears
Commensurate wi' a mortal's years;
Enjoy the present—crack your joke
An' tak' your dram wi' sober folk,
An' dinna grieve the passin' 'oors
By wonderin' if the future's yours!
An' follow 't, an' we'll ca' ye wice:
118
Commensurate wi' a mortal's years;
Enjoy the present—crack your joke
An' tak' your dram wi' sober folk,
An' dinna grieve the passin' 'oors
By wonderin' if the future's yours!
119
Hughie Lectures a Vain Old Maid.
“Fis anus, et tamen
Vis formosa videri.”
—Car. iv. 13.
Vis formosa videri.”
—Car. iv. 13.
Eh, Nance! this is a sair come-doun;
An' ye were ance sae braw,
The pridefu'est lass in a' the toon,
Coortit by ane an' a!
Ay, wumman, at oor time o' life
Thae youthfu' memories are rife—
Surely ye winna yet maintain
Your courtin' days are no by-gane?
An' ye were ance sae braw,
The pridefu'est lass in a' the toon,
Coortit by ane an' a!
Ay, wumman, at oor time o' life
Thae youthfu' memories are rife—
Surely ye winna yet maintain
Your courtin' days are no by-gane?
Ye ken your raven ringlets noo
Are grizzle-grey or white,
Your een are blear'd that were sae blue
An' sparkled sae wi' spite.
Wha wad prefer your runkled chaft
To rosy Meg's, sae smooth an' saft?
An', faith, to ca' your crackit quaver
Melodious noo is juist a haver!
Are grizzle-grey or white,
Your een are blear'd that were sae blue
An' sparkled sae wi' spite.
120
To rosy Meg's, sae smooth an' saft?
An', faith, to ca' your crackit quaver
Melodious noo is juist a haver!
But bonnie Meg can lilt fu' weel
Wi' that bit modest mou',
An', while she warbles, whaur's the chiel'
Wad lend a lug to you?
Ye needna fash to busk yersel',
For what ye've on there's nane could tell:
Lay by your silks an' pearlins noo,
A worset goon's the liker you.
Wi' that bit modest mou',
An', while she warbles, whaur's the chiel'
Wad lend a lug to you?
Ye needna fash to busk yersel',
For what ye've on there's nane could tell:
Lay by your silks an' pearlins noo,
A worset goon's the liker you.
Your looks that were sae bauld an' free,
Your bloom that was sae bonnie—
Ance, an ye mind, they maister'd me;
I was as daft as ony!
Ay! nane but Bess cam' near ye than,—
An' this is Bess's second man,
While you—ye're never oot i' bit,
An' dressin' like a young lass yet!
Your bloom that was sae bonnie—
Ance, an ye mind, they maister'd me;
I was as daft as ony!
Ay! nane but Bess cam' near ye than,—
An' this is Bess's second man,
While you—ye're never oot i' bit,
An' dressin' like a young lass yet!
123
Autolycus in Glendevon: Hughie falls in with Shakespeare.
“Callidum, quidquid placuit, jocoso
Condere furto.”
—Car. i. 10.
—Car. i. 10.
A player 's come to Devon banks,
An' doun fornenst my door he clanks,
An' draws his buskins on;
Then up he loups: the gude be near's!
The warld at my door appears,
An' Devonside stands yon'!
Here stalks a king, there slinks a freer,
An' fra behint a buss
Keeks ane wi' sly todlowrie leer—
The loon Autolycus.
Deceivin', an' weavin'
His wiles wi' ready skill,
Yet rantin', an' chantin',—
I canna wuss him ill.
An' doun fornenst my door he clanks,
An' draws his buskins on;
Then up he loups: the gude be near's!
The warld at my door appears,
An' Devonside stands yon'!
Here stalks a king, there slinks a freer,
An' fra behint a buss
Keeks ane wi' sly todlowrie leer—
The loon Autolycus.
Deceivin', an' weavin'
His wiles wi' ready skill,
Yet rantin', an' chantin',—
I canna wuss him ill.
124
I pass for honest man mysel',
Wi' truth, as far as I can tell;
Yet see hoo things come roun',—
Some auld forgotten taint o' blude,
Some auld forbear's contempt o' gude,
Mak's me admire the loon.
An' I could hearken till his strain
When hawthorn buds appear
(Gin I could ca' my lugs my ain)
Whil' I had lugs to hear.
But deacons, an' beacons
O' haly reek and flame,
Surround me, an' bound me,
An' bid me bide at hame!
Wi' truth, as far as I can tell;
Yet see hoo things come roun',—
Some auld forgotten taint o' blude,
Some auld forbear's contempt o' gude,
Mak's me admire the loon.
An' I could hearken till his strain
When hawthorn buds appear
(Gin I could ca' my lugs my ain)
Whil' I had lugs to hear.
But deacons, an' beacons
O' haly reek and flame,
Surround me, an' bound me,
An' bid me bide at hame!
We're ower sair fash'd wi' righteousness!
The warld, I'm sure, wad do wi' less
O' that peculiar kind
That lies in visage lang an' sour,
Uncharitable heart, an' dour
An' narrow bigot mind;
That weaves a windin'-sheet for mirth,
That poisons bread wi' leaven,
That herds us fra the joys o' earth,
An' fain wad haud's fra heaven!
Misca's us, an' thraws us,
Hooever it seems fit:
We'll blink it, an' jink it,
An' tak' oor fling o't yet!
The warld, I'm sure, wad do wi' less
O' that peculiar kind
That lies in visage lang an' sour,
Uncharitable heart, an' dour
An' narrow bigot mind;
127
That poisons bread wi' leaven,
That herds us fra the joys o' earth,
An' fain wad haud's fra heaven!
Misca's us, an' thraws us,
Hooever it seems fit:
We'll blink it, an' jink it,
An' tak' oor fling o't yet!
128
Hughie's Views on Soldiering.
“Nos proelia virginum
Sectis in juvenes unguibus acrium
Cantamus.”
—Car. i. 6.
Sectis in juvenes unguibus acrium
Cantamus.”
—Car. i. 6.
War's broken oot, an' the toon's wives are skirlin',
An' Jock maun awa' to the muster at Stirlin'.
An' Jock maun awa' to the muster at Stirlin'.
A douce lad, Jock, when he lived wi' 's here,
Stappin' aboot in his plooman's gear,
An' whustlin' blithe on his native braes—
But a deevil for fechtin' in scarlet claes!
Stappin' aboot in his plooman's gear,
An' whustlin' blithe on his native braes—
But a deevil for fechtin' in scarlet claes!
Nae doot he's braw wi' his sabretache
White gloves, steel sword, an' a stiff mustache,
An' lang strippit-breeks—faith, a strappin' chiel,
Wi' a silver spur like a star at his heel!
White gloves, steel sword, an' a stiff mustache,
An' lang strippit-breeks—faith, a strappin' chiel,
Wi' a silver spur like a star at his heel!
131
But I'm no' at hame in the haunts o' weir,
Wi' its gibbles strange, an' its gibberish queer,
Wi' its “limber” here, an' “echelong” there,
Its “parks” an' “parades,” an' kens what mair.
Wi' its gibbles strange, an' its gibberish queer,
Wi' its “limber” here, an' “echelong” there,
Its “parks” an' “parades,” an' kens what mair.
I'd like very weel to descrive it a'
For the sake o' Jock, for he looks sae braw,
But I micht gang wrang in a form or a phrase,
An' earn Jock's wrath for the rest o' my days.
For the sake o' Jock, for he looks sae braw,
But I micht gang wrang in a form or a phrase,
An' earn Jock's wrath for the rest o' my days.
The soger-boys are a sicht to see,
But their style o' fechtin' 's no' for me—
Wi' their blawin' ye up, an' their ca'in' ye roun',
An' their stickin' ye dead when they get ye doun!
But their style o' fechtin' 's no' for me—
Wi' their blawin' ye up, an' their ca'in' ye roun',
An' their stickin' ye dead when they get ye doun!
The only fechtin' I care aboot
Is when a Meg wi' her jo fa's oot:
She lowses upon him a tinkler jaw
An' rugs his hair; an' he bears it a';
An' it's a' made up in an 'oor or twa!
Is when a Meg wi' her jo fa's oot:
She lowses upon him a tinkler jaw
An' rugs his hair; an' he bears it a';
An' it's a' made up in an 'oor or twa!
132
Hughie thinks himself now too old for Love.
“Nocturnis ego somniis,
Jam captam teneo, jam volucrem sequor.”
—Car. iv. 1.
Jam captam teneo, jam volucrem sequor.”
—Car. iv. 1.
O haud awa' thae lowin' een!
I canna bide their licht;
I'm no' sae young as I hae been,
Nor near sae strong o' sicht.
I'm wearin' near twa score an' ten—
It's mair becomin' me
To think upon my latter en';
In pity, let me be!
I canna bide their licht;
I'm no' sae young as I hae been,
Nor near sae strong o' sicht.
I'm wearin' near twa score an' ten—
It's mair becomin' me
To think upon my latter en';
In pity, let me be!
There's Sandie wad be liker ye,
A dacent honest lad;
He's growin' like his nowte awee,
But, hoot! he's no' that bad.
He's a weel-daein' chield, an' douce,
An' wants a wife forbye;
An' mind he has a snod bit house,
An' twa-three gude milk kye.
A dacent honest lad;
He's growin' like his nowte awee,
But, hoot! he's no' that bad.
135
An' wants a wife forbye;
An' mind he has a snod bit house,
An' twa-three gude milk kye.
He'll busk ye juist as braw, nae doot,
An' cheaper than anither—
He'll hae a gude wheen claes aboot
Belangin' to his mither.
Then dinna fling awa' your smiles
(Ye'd fling whate'er cam' handy
At ony o' 's, I've noticed, whyles!)
But keep them a' for Sandie.
An' cheaper than anither—
He'll hae a gude wheen claes aboot
Belangin' to his mither.
Then dinna fling awa' your smiles
(Ye'd fling whate'er cam' handy
At ony o' 's, I've noticed, whyles!)
But keep them a' for Sandie.
For me, I howp the comin' years
Are calmer than I've seen yet;
Yet why, ah! why will hidden tears
Unbidden fill my een yet?
Thee still in dreams by night I view,
Thee flying o'er the plain,
Thee, cruel Peggy! I pursue
O'er rolling seas in vain!
Are calmer than I've seen yet;
Yet why, ah! why will hidden tears
Unbidden fill my een yet?
Thee still in dreams by night I view,
Thee flying o'er the plain,
Thee, cruel Peggy! I pursue
O'er rolling seas in vain!
136
Hughie's Indignation at the Conduct of the Absconding Elder.
“Mala soluta navis exit alite.”
—Car. v. 10.
—Car. v. 10.
He's aff the kintra at a spang!
He's on the sea—they've tint him!
The warst o' weather wi' him gang!
Gude weather bide ahint him!
O for a rattlin' bauld Scots blast
To follow an' owretak' him—
To screed his sails, an' break his mast,
An' grup his ship, an' shak' him.
He's on the sea—they've tint him!
The warst o' weather wi' him gang!
Gude weather bide ahint him!
O for a rattlin' bauld Scots blast
To follow an' owretak' him—
To screed his sails, an' break his mast,
An' grup his ship, an' shak' him.
Yet wha was less possessed wi' guile,
Or prayed wi' readier unction?
He brocht the sweetness o' a smile
To every public function.
There wasna ane had half the grace
Or graciousness o' Peter;
There wasna ane in a' the place
For the millennium meeter.
Or prayed wi' readier unction?
He brocht the sweetness o' a smile
To every public function.
139
Or graciousness o' Peter;
There wasna ane in a' the place
For the millennium meeter.
He's fairly aff, he's stown awa',
A wolf that wore a fleece, man!
He's cheated justice, jinkit law,
An' lauch'd at the policeman.
The mission fund, the parish rate,
He had the haill control o't;
The very pennies i' the plate—
He's skirtit wi' the whole o't!
A wolf that wore a fleece, man!
He's cheated justice, jinkit law,
An' lauch'd at the policeman.
The mission fund, the parish rate,
He had the haill control o't;
The very pennies i' the plate—
He's skirtit wi' the whole o't!
It's juist a year—it's no' a year,
I'm no' a hair the belder,
Since in the Session Chaumer here
We made him rulin' elder.
An' juist a month as Feursday fell
He gat the gold repeater,
That in a speech I made mysel'
We handit owre to Peter.
I'm no' a hair the belder,
Since in the Session Chaumer here
We made him rulin' elder.
An' juist a month as Feursday fell
He gat the gold repeater,
That in a speech I made mysel'
We handit owre to Peter.
140
A bonnie lever, capp'd an' jew'ld
Perth never saw the mak' o't,
An' wi' his character in goold
Engraven on the back o't.
He's aff! he's aff wi' a' the spoil,
Baith law and justice jinkit!
O for a wind o' winds the wale
To chase his ship an' sink it!
Perth never saw the mak' o't,
An' wi' his character in goold
Engraven on the back o't.
He's aff! he's aff wi' a' the spoil,
Baith law and justice jinkit!
O for a wind o' winds the wale
To chase his ship an' sink it!
To lift the water like a fleece
An' gie him sic a drookin',
Whaur on his growf he groans for grace
But canna pray for pukin'.
Then wash'd owre seas upon a spar,
Wi' seaweeds roun' the head o'm,
Let neither licht o' sun nor star
Shine down upon the greed o'm!
An' gie him sic a drookin',
Whaur on his growf he groans for grace
But canna pray for pukin'.
Then wash'd owre seas upon a spar,
Wi' seaweeds roun' the head o'm,
Let neither licht o' sun nor star
Shine down upon the greed o'm!
But let a shark fra oonderneath,
It's jaws wi' hunger tichtenin',
Soom round him, shawin' izzet teeth
At every flash o' lichtnin'!
Till in the end the angry waves
Transport him to a distance,
To herd wi' wolves an' sterve in caves,
An' fecht for an existence!
It's jaws wi' hunger tichtenin',
Soom round him, shawin' izzet teeth
At every flash o' lichtnin'!
141
Transport him to a distance,
To herd wi' wolves an' sterve in caves,
An' fecht for an existence!
142
Hughie's Anticipation of Hogmanay Night.
“Seu tu querelas sive geris jocos,
Seu rixam, et insanos amores,
Seu facilem, pia testa, somnum.”
—Car. iii. 21.
Seu rixam, et insanos amores,
Seu facilem, pia testa, somnum.”
—Car. iii. 21.
Hoo cam' this bonnie greybeard here,
Sae trimly to the time o' year,
When folk maun lay 't in, tho' it's dear?
But this, I'se wauger,
Cost but the buyin' o' the bere
An' miss'd the gauger.
Sae trimly to the time o' year,
When folk maun lay 't in, tho' it's dear?
But this, I'se wauger,
Cost but the buyin' o' the bere
An' miss'd the gauger.
It's smuggled—faith, I canna doot it!
The smell o' peat-reek hings aboot it!
But still it's whusky—to dispute it
Wad be a sin—
Sae wi' the leechence, or withoot it,
We'se tak' it in.
The smell o' peat-reek hings aboot it!
But still it's whusky—to dispute it
Wad be a sin—
Sae wi' the leechence, or withoot it,
We'se tak' it in.
143
This verra nicht it's Hogmanay—
When Hab an' Rab an' twa-three mae
Weel-geizen'd guisers up the brae
May be expeckit;
An' they maun cake an' caulker hae,
Or they're negleckit.
When Hab an' Rab an' twa-three mae
Weel-geizen'd guisers up the brae
May be expeckit;
An' they maun cake an' caulker hae,
Or they're negleckit.
An' juist as likly 's no, the folk
That brew'd, an' brocht this bonnie crock,
An' left it hingin' at my lock,
May be amon' them:
Surely a mutchkin o' the stock
'S weel wair'd upon them.
That brew'd, an' brocht this bonnie crock,
An' left it hingin' at my lock,
May be amon' them:
Surely a mutchkin o' the stock
'S weel wair'd upon them.
It's whusky noo; but ere the morn
The deil kens what may be i' horn,
What acks and antics may be born
O' this elixir!
The humours o' John Barleycorn—
They're a queer mixtur'!
The deil kens what may be i' horn,
What acks and antics may be born
O' this elixir!
The humours o' John Barleycorn—
They're a queer mixtur'!
144
Here Willie wi' a warlike ee,
There Hab upon his bendit knee,
Dave amorous daft, an' Roger ree,
An' Patie snorin',
An' Geordie wi' his jaws ajee
A ballant roarin'!
There Hab upon his bendit knee,
Dave amorous daft, an' Roger ree,
An' Patie snorin',
An' Geordie wi' his jaws ajee
A ballant roarin'!
Rab sits an' sulks,—a dour ane Rab!
Wee Johnnie gets a gift o' gab;
Lang Sandie grows a perfeck blab
An' tooms his mind;
While Tam, wi' aye the ither sab,
Swears he's resign'd.
Wee Johnnie gets a gift o' gab;
Lang Sandie grows a perfeck blab
An' tooms his mind;
While Tam, wi' aye the ither sab,
Swears he's resign'd.
I see them in their various places,
Oblivious o' their blacken'd faces;
They sit, ae hour the ither chases,
Nor think o' risin',
Nor hoo John Barleycorn disgraces
Them an' their guisin'.
Oblivious o' their blacken'd faces;
They sit, ae hour the ither chases,
Nor think o' risin',
Nor hoo John Barleycorn disgraces
Them an' their guisin'.
145
At last it comes, the warnin' click
The auld clock gi'es afore it strik';
They warstle up, an' i' the nick
Roar oot their greetin';
Then Patie's wauken'd wi' a kick,
An' skells the meetin'!
The auld clock gi'es afore it strik';
They warstle up, an' i' the nick
Roar oot their greetin';
Then Patie's wauken'd wi' a kick,
An' skells the meetin'!
146
Hughie upon Human Conduct.
“Memento . . . moriture Delli!”
—Car. ii. 3.
—Car. ii. 3.
Young man, wha at the gates o' life
Are bauldly pushing forward,
Forgetna in the fash o' strife
That a' your days are order'd.
There's mony a quest'on greatly vext,
An' mony a truth disputit,
But that we a' maun dee s' a text
Nae sceptic ever dootit.
Are bauldly pushing forward,
Forgetna in the fash o' strife
That a' your days are order'd.
There's mony a quest'on greatly vext,
An' mony a truth disputit,
But that we a' maun dee s' a text
Nae sceptic ever dootit.
There's some that groan wi' gather'd cares
Like grief-opprest Cassandras,
An' some that jig like fules at fairs
An' mock like merry-Andros.
But hoo should we comport oorsels,
As life we journey thro' it?
Or wha that kens will rise an' tell 's
The wisest way to view it?
Like grief-opprest Cassandras,
An' some that jig like fules at fairs
An' mock like merry-Andros.
147
As life we journey thro' it?
Or wha that kens will rise an' tell 's
The wisest way to view it?
We'll let that halesome text, as God,
There's little doot, design'd it,
Come like a caution on the road
To keep us even-mindit;
To save us in oor prosperous days
From insolent offending,
An' whisper in the midst o' waes
That they too have an ending.
There's little doot, design'd it,
Come like a caution on the road
To keep us even-mindit;
To save us in oor prosperous days
From insolent offending,
An' whisper in the midst o' waes
That they too have an ending.
It's no' the pairt, but hoo we ack
That judgment 'ill be past on;
It's no' the red coat nor the black,
It's no' what we had last on.
That, only that's deservin' praise
That we hae dune oor best in;
The place is but the player's claes,
The conduct is the question.
That judgment 'ill be past on;
It's no' the red coat nor the black,
It's no' what we had last on.
That, only that's deservin' praise
That we hae dune oor best in;
The place is but the player's claes,
The conduct is the question.
148
Hughie's Invitation to a Friend in the City.
“Hic tibi copie
Manabit ad plenum benigno
Ruris honorum opulenta cornu.”
—Car. i. 17.
Manabit ad plenum benigno
Ruris honorum opulenta cornu.”
—Car. i. 17.
Noo Nature's wauken'd fra her trance,
An' sunbeams owre Lochleven glance,
An' soothlan' winds that blaw fra France
Bring soothlan' weather,
An' lambs like fairy pownies prance
Amang the heather.
An' sunbeams owre Lochleven glance,
An' soothlan' winds that blaw fra France
Bring soothlan' weather,
An' lambs like fairy pownies prance
Amang the heather.
Noo doun the rig the sawer swings,
An' Jock ahint the harrow sings;
Noo aff his plaid the shepherd flings
An' cracks to Rover,
While a' the open upland rings
To whaup and plover.
An' Jock ahint the harrow sings;
Noo aff his plaid the shepherd flings
An' cracks to Rover,
While a' the open upland rings
To whaup and plover.
149
This mornin' happy man is he
That on the Ochils rangin' free
Can thro' the blue lift send his ee
Owre to the Lomon',
An' a' the pleasant prospect see
An' envy no man.
That on the Ochils rangin' free
Can thro' the blue lift send his ee
Owre to the Lomon',
An' a' the pleasant prospect see
An' envy no man.
That happy man—he's no' to seek!
That happy man—ye hear him speak!
He stands upon an Ochil peak
An' looks wi' pity
On you that dwall amang the reek
Doun i' the city.
That happy man—ye hear him speak!
He stands upon an Ochil peak
An' looks wi' pity
On you that dwall amang the reek
Doun i' the city.
Nae doot it's there the race is run
For walth an' honours, but the fun
'S to them that win, an' tho' ye've won
Ye're apt to time them;
The glory o' the settin' sun
'Ill far ootshine them!
For walth an' honours, but the fun
'S to them that win, an' tho' ye've won
Ye're apt to time them;
The glory o' the settin' sun
'Ill far ootshine them!
150
Come, leave awhile the stoory toun,
The mill-horse track, the endless roun',
The jaded sicht, the jarrin' soun',
The haste an' hurry,
An' look fra pastoral summits doun
On Edinburgh.
The mill-horse track, the endless roun',
The jaded sicht, the jarrin' soun',
The haste an' hurry,
An' look fra pastoral summits doun
On Edinburgh.
Here a' your griefs to grund 'ill fa'
Like winter's blanket aff a wa'
When saft airs owre Damíat blaw,
An' skies are clearin'.
An' yellow whin-blumes thro' the snaw
Are blithely peerin'.
Like winter's blanket aff a wa'
When saft airs owre Damíat blaw,
An' skies are clearin'.
An' yellow whin-blumes thro' the snaw
Are blithely peerin'.
Or are ye shilpit, pale, an' sick?
Come up the brae an' bide a week,
An' drink the pure air at the peak
That's nearest heaven,
An' get a howp in ilka cheek
O' halesome livin'.
Come up the brae an' bide a week,
An' drink the pure air at the peak
That's nearest heaven,
An' get a howp in ilka cheek
O' halesome livin'.
151
For what's the worth o' warld's gain
Unless the joys o' health remain?
Yet there are folk that strive, an' strain
Their strength unduly—
Wi' puir return for a' their pain,
To speak it truly.
Unless the joys o' health remain?
Yet there are folk that strive, an' strain
Their strength unduly—
Wi' puir return for a' their pain,
To speak it truly.
[_]
Note.—Damíat is a conspicuous height of the Ochil range. The Lomonds are a well-known range near Lochleven.
152
Hughie's Belief in Present Duty.
“Vina liques, et spatio brevi
Spem longam reseces.”
—Car. i. 11.
Spem longam reseces.”
—Car. i. 11.
It wasna meant that mortal men
Should read the deevil's books to ken
(What they can never comprehen')
The secret o' their hinner en'.
Should read the deevil's books to ken
(What they can never comprehen')
The secret o' their hinner en'.
The nobler gate o't were to spen'
The scriptural threescore years an' ten,
Or less or mair, as Heaven may sen',
In present duty to the en'.
The scriptural threescore years an' ten,
Or less or mair, as Heaven may sen',
In present duty to the en'.
For, let us sum up what we ken;
The present—weel, that's oors to spen';
The past—that canna come agen;
The future—that's for Heaven to len'.
The present—weel, that's oors to spen';
The past—that canna come agen;
The future—that's for Heaven to len'.
153
Than this, we'll get nae farrer ben;
An' sae, like reasonable men,
Let's keep oor hopes within oor ken;
An' noo—produce the tappit hen!
An' sae, like reasonable men,
Let's keep oor hopes within oor ken;
An' noo—produce the tappit hen!
154
Pyrrhine Bell: Hughie's old Valentine.
“Quis nunc te fruitur credulus aurea?”
—Car. i. 5.
—Car. i. 5.
I
Dear Bell,—the name at least is dear,The love was lost langsyne!—
Whaur won ye noo? if ane may speer;
An' wha's your valentine?
That some brisk Donald o' the braes,
Or Jockie o' the glen,—
That some ane some gate ca's ye his,
(God bless the bairn!) I ken.
II
I'm wae for him, the witless youth,That tak's her passin' whim;
An' yet, if I maun speak the truth,
I halflins could be him!
157
Controll'd that witchin' ee?
Or that those gleesome airs were airt?
But cuissen lads like me!
III
That some ane some gate has her heart,(God save the mark!) I ken;
There never yet was handsome flirt
But had her wale o' men.
An', troth! if truth were in her kiss,
An' true love in her smile,
She weel micht merit—what she hiz,
The livin' warld to wyle!
IV
Puir unkent brither, whustlin' blitheWi' firm belief in Bell,
As lang as simmer-glances kythe,
Enjoy them for theirsel'!
158
As bravely as ye may!
What needs a man forecast the glooms
To tak' them ere their day?
159
Hughie's Enjoyment of Summer in Glendevon.
“Per meos fines, et aprica rura
Lenis incedas, abeasque parvis
Æquus alumnis.”
—Car. iii. 18.
Lenis incedas, abeasque parvis
Æquus alumnis.”
—Car. iii. 18.
Sweet Simmer, to the pastur' come
That slopes to Devon banks,
And with thee bring the gairie's hum,
And earn a shepherd's thanks.
That slopes to Devon banks,
And with thee bring the gairie's hum,
And earn a shepherd's thanks.
For Grecian plains I do not mourn,
Nor streams of Castalee;
Blink on the banks where I was born,
And that's eneu' for me.
Nor streams of Castalee;
Blink on the banks where I was born,
And that's eneu' for me.
Sweet Simmer, by oor banks abide
And blink on Devon burn;
And late depart from Devonside
With promise of return.
And blink on Devon burn;
And late depart from Devonside
With promise of return.
160
Then fairy fancies wing'd wi' rhyme
Across my path shall pass,
With wild bees from the beds of thyme,
And laverocks from the grass.
Across my path shall pass,
With wild bees from the beds of thyme,
And laverocks from the grass.
What whiter gowans wait thy smile
On foreign buchtit braes?
What swanker shepherds?—sad the while
Thy lingering step delays.
On foreign buchtit braes?
What swanker shepherds?—sad the while
Thy lingering step delays.
Here gowden blooms on hill-taps burn,
And daisies pearl the lea,
And Devon toys in mony a turn
From wedding with the sea.
And daisies pearl the lea,
And Devon toys in mony a turn
From wedding with the sea.
Sweet Simmer, by oor banks abide,
And prove to warl'y men
That, gang they far or gang they wide,
There's peace around the pen;
And prove to warl'y men
That, gang they far or gang they wide,
There's peace around the pen;
That yet the golden age delays
Of which they only dream,
Wi' shepherd folk on Ochil braes
By Devon's gentle stream.
Of which they only dream,
Wi' shepherd folk on Ochil braes
By Devon's gentle stream.
161
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.
162
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.
163
164
165
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.
166
Hughie at the Smiddy—A Dramatic Idyll.
“Ille terrarum mihi præter omnes
Angulus ridet.”
—Car. ii. 6.
Angulus ridet.”
—Car. ii. 6.
I. Part I.
The Smithy—Evening. Smith. Three Ploughmen. Enter Hugh.Hugh
—Noo, billies, ken ye what's the steer?
1st Ploughman
—Dave's listed.
2nd Ploughman
— Lowrie's on the beer.
3rd Ploughman
—Nick's cut his throat.
Hugh
— The gude be here,
An' guard an' bless us!
There's scandal for a lang loup-year—
Gie owre your guesses!
167
168
169
He cam' the day!
Smith
— Lang Geordie?
Hugh
— Him.
Smith
—I mind him weel—lang, lowse, an' slim;
The wind could bend him.
Hugh
—Ay; but he's back in ither trim
Than ance we kenn'd him.
Smith
—What's that?
Hugh
— Ou, brawny, big, an' weel;
Beard like a buss, kite like a creel,
As roond an' soond as ony wheel
Ye ever chappit,—
A buirdly, business, wice-like chiel
As ever stappit.
Smith
—An' weel pat on?
Hugh
—The best o' claith;
Coat, breeks—the wast o' England baith;
An' gowd—
1st Pl.
— Noo, Hughie, tak' a breath
2nd Pl.
—An' gie's 't in plenty!
170
3rd Pl.
— Ca't thoosan's!
Hugh
— Weel, I'll tak' an aith
At least it's twenty.
1st Pl.
—Gude measure!
2nd Pl.
— Lippin'!
3rd Pl.
— To the brim!
Smith
—An' wha's he this? Lang Geordie Sym?
This man o' size an' substance, him
That aye gaed fleein'?
'Faith, Hughie, ye're in famous trim
The nicht for leein'!
Come, steer aboot! wha's aucht this gear?
What's wantit wi' the sock-neb here?
1st Pl.
—Mair laund. A chap or twa wad near
Do a' that's wantit.
Smith
—Hughie, we'll no' juist ca' ye lear—
Tak' it for grantit!
Hugh
—That's ceevil! Weel, it's what I ken
That Geordie's rich amon' rich men,
171
An' speaks forbye
O' flocks at the far warl's en',
An' droves o' kye.
His farm's a coonty, an' his sheep
The coonty boun's can hardly keep;
He says a telescope micht sweep
His ootmost border,
But ae inch owre it couldna peep,
Tho' made to order!
An' then his sheep—
2nd Pl.
— Wow! but it's graund
To hear o' sic a sicht o' laund!
What say ye, chaps? we'll mak' a baund,
An' owre the ocean!
1st Pl.
—But hoolie! an' let's understaund—
Whaur's this new Goshen?
Hugh
—It's on the underside i' warl'—
Smith
—Ay, man? Hoo dae they stick?
172
Hugh
— Daft carle!
This earth's a kind o' whirlin' barr'l,
Some up, some under;
It's time aboot wi' ilka wharl,
An' whaur's the wonder?
Owstralia's up when Scotland's doun,
An' that's when we're a' sleepin' soun',
But i' the nicht time we're ca'd roun',
An' i' the mornin'
We're up, an' at oor wark, to croon
The day's adornin'!
3rd Pl.
—Man, Hughie, but ye've rowth o' wirds,
They carve the subjec'-theme like swirds—
Tell us what kin' o' beas' an' birds
Live thereawa'.
2nd Pl.
—An' what they gie their hinds an' herds.
1st Pl.
— Just oot wi't a'.
Hugh
—Weel, first, they've neither craws nor doos,
173
An' then for beas', they've kangaroos
An' aborigins;
The folk's a mixtur', I jaloose,
O' a' religions,
But brithers a'—there's nae pretence;
An' then the kintra's sae immense,
Ye'll get a farm at sma' expense,
An' hoose to sleep in;
In fac', ye juist rin oot your fence
An' ca' your sheep in.
There's nane to steer ye whaur ye sattle.
An' there they breed like Jacob's cattle,
Till to the boun's they spread an' sprattle,
Then—owre they rin
Whaur neither fence o' wire nor wattle
Can haud them in.
174
The gressy wildernesses wide in,
To herd the flocks that winna bide in,
An' keep them clear!
There's nae sic guardin' or sic guidin'
O' cattle here.
The shepherds i' the saiddle sleep,
The plains are populous wi' sheep,
The haill horizon seems to creep,
An' far ayont it
They haena even time to keep
The cattle coontit!
Owre a' the region, far an' near,
There's bleatin' there, an' baain' here;
Then comes the crap-time o' the year
When packs are made up,
An' gowpenfu's o' gowden gear
Are snugly laid up.
175
Has grown a man o' means, an' thriven,
Staunds twa ell straucht, an' lifts to heaven
A half-ell beard,
An' looks as life-like an' as livin'
As ony laird.
176
II. Part II.
Smithy as before. Later evening. Smith. Hugh. Three Ploughmen. Outside at half-door, a Tall Stranger, with a half-ell beard, leading a Saddle-horse.Tall Stranger
—Who owns this hole? Holloa there—you!
Blacksmith or blackguard!
Smith
— What's ado?
Hugh
—It's him! it's Geordie!
Tall St.
— Horse to shoe!
And look out—there's 't!
(Quoiting in the iron.)
Smith
—Man, folk hae time to dicht their mou'
I' th' heat o' hairst!
177
178
179
Hugh
— It's Maister Sym!
Noo, blacksmith, say 't!
Smith
— Hughie, it's him!
'Faith, sir, ye come in ither trim
Than ance I've kent ye—
Sym
—That's years ago!
Smith
— —lang, lowse, an' slim!
Ay, sir, it's twenty!
Sym
—Twenty?—a hundred! You don't know
How much your country clock's gone slow.
Well, Hugh? What is't to be then? Go?
Or stay and sterve here?
“Ay” means—well, look at me! And “no,”
For ever serve here.
I leave, and soon; and not again
To seek old Scotland o'er the main;
My home's on yon Australian plain,
My hopes are yonder;
Why, man, a county breadth's my ain—
What needs your wonder?
180
Hugh
—At least she ga'e ye brains.
Sym
— May be!
Hugh
—An' banes; an' bu'k.
Sym
— Na—that's a lee,
The hin'most half o't!
The shank she ga'e me for a thie,
I made a staff o't!
Well, and what else? No more, I trow,
But hip-room on a thistly knowe,
Or scartin' rocks ahint a plow,
For a rich neighbour—
Out yonder, lads, there's room to grow,
An' wealth for labour!
Take my advice—ye'll ne'er repent it;
Your country's yonder if ye kent it;
There's Burn-the-wind—he's nearhand faintit
Ca'in' a shoe on!
At his age yonder—
Smith
— He's contentit;
Be joggin' you on!
181
Sym (giving silver)
— And there's your pay.
So, Hughie, you elect to stay—
Well, wilful man will have his way.
Good-bye—but think on't.
(Mounts and rides off.)
Smith
(looking into his loof)
— A croon!
1st Pl.
— He rides a bonnie gray.
Smith
— We'se ha'e a drink on't!
(Boy at bellows despatched with pig.)
2nd Pl.
—He'd gar ye troo it was a wrang
To breathe in Scotland.
3rd Pl.
(to Hugh)
— Will ye gang?
Hugh
—I've lo'ed auld Scotland far owre lang,
Heart-thirled till her!
An' what's the gospel o' his sang
But only siller?
Na, na! that wasna in the plan,
That's no' the great chief end o' man,
182
An' syne content ye;
But lift what's lyin' to your han'—
Aneu's a plenty.
As sweet to me amang the knowes,
Whaur Devon's caller current rows,
To lead the lambs an' ca' the yowes
As to commaund them;
As sweet to view the hechts an' howes
As if I awn'd them.
Nae fairer warl' I wuss to view,
Nae loftier path wad I pursue,
Nae trustier friends than you, an' you,
I care to hae;
An' here I wad gang slippin' thro',
E'en as I dae.
Here as my mortal hopes expire,
And ilka earth-born dear desire
Dees oot, as dees the desert fire,
Let tranquil age
Attend me thro' the creepin' tire
O' life's last stage.
And ilka earth-born dear desire
183
Let tranquil age
Attend me thro' the creepin' tire
O' life's last stage.
Here let the sicht o' hill an' field
The fragrance o' my youth-time yield;
Here let me totter doun to eild,
An' find a grave here—
What ither than a gowany bield
Amang the lave here?
The fragrance o' my youth-time yield;
Here let me totter doun to eild,
An' find a grave here—
What ither than a gowany bield
Amang the lave here?
Nae pomp nor passion there appear,
But winds the growin' laurel steer,
An' solitary friends draw near
At antern times
To drap a saut but silent tear
Owre Hughie's rhymes!
But winds the growin' laurel steer,
An' solitary friends draw near
At antern times
To drap a saut but silent tear
Owre Hughie's rhymes!
184
Hughie moralises on the Value of Life.
“Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume,
Labuntur anni!”
—Car. ii. 14.
Labuntur anni!”
—Car. ii. 14.
Alas! alas! my fellow feres,
We may no more deny
The pressure of the speeding years;
Oor days are driving by.
We may no more deny
The pressure of the speeding years;
Oor days are driving by.
Already on the downward track
The posting furies fare;
For virtuous life they will not slack,
For purpose will not spare.
The posting furies fare;
For virtuous life they will not slack,
For purpose will not spare.
This is the ill beneath the sun
That vexes ageing men—
Oor lease of life is half-gate run
Before of lease we ken.
That vexes ageing men—
Oor lease of life is half-gate run
Before of lease we ken.
185
We waste or ware oor strength of youth
On idols of the ee,
Infidel of the wholesome truth
Of our mortalitie.
On idols of the ee,
Infidel of the wholesome truth
Of our mortalitie.
Ye callants, what avails the strife
That twyns ye o' your prime?
The dearest gift of life is life,
The dearest enemy time.
That twyns ye o' your prime?
The dearest gift of life is life,
The dearest enemy time.
O ne'er can rank or wealth enhance
The gift that ne'er was awn,
The lovely gift, the glorious chance,
Ance offer'd, sune withdrawn!
The gift that ne'er was awn,
The lovely gift, the glorious chance,
Ance offer'd, sune withdrawn!
To them that on the shaded slope
Are faring down, like me,
With ever daily dwining hope,
How fair it tak's the ee!
Are faring down, like me,
With ever daily dwining hope,
How fair it tak's the ee!
What had been oors from hour of birth
We learn to value then;
Sweet grow the common joys of earth,
And dear the face of men.
We learn to value then;
Sweet grow the common joys of earth,
And dear the face of men.
186
Hughie on Evictions: he Lectures a Greedy Landlord.
“Non ebur neque aureum.”
—Car. ii. 18.
—Car. ii. 18.
Nae pillars rise at my door-cheeks,
Nae plate adorns my door;
The sun that through my window keeks
Sees but a sanded floor.
Nae plate adorns my door;
The sun that through my window keeks
Sees but a sanded floor.
Nae cock-laird, sick an' sweir to dee,
Bans me, his far-aff heir;
Nae auld maid sets her mutch at me—
In stockings, mony a pair.
Bans me, his far-aff heir;
Nae auld maid sets her mutch at me—
In stockings, mony a pair.
But common-sense and a sma' cast
O' country wit are mine,
And friendly critics, east an' wast,
Cry up my rustic line.
O' country wit are mine,
And friendly critics, east an' wast,
Cry up my rustic line.
187
Nae better fortune would I ken
For comfort or for pride,
Blest wi' a shepherd's but-an'-ben
High up on Ochilside.
For comfort or for pride,
Blest wi' a shepherd's but-an'-ben
High up on Ochilside.
My lease o' life is half-gate through,
And I'm contented weel
To roam about, e'en as I do,
With Rover at my heel.
And I'm contented weel
To roam about, e'en as I do,
With Rover at my heel.
Alas! the emblems of our state,
Where'er we turn, appear:
Day shouthers day ayont the gate,
And moons round aff the year.
Where'er we turn, appear:
Day shouthers day ayont the gate,
And moons round aff the year.
Yet you, wha's pride disdains to sell,
Wha's greed is still to buy,
Forgetfu' o' the narrow cell
Where you maun erelang lie;
Wha's greed is still to buy,
Forgetfu' o' the narrow cell
Where you maun erelang lie;
You, sir, wha spin not, nor hae cause,
Or toil—but where's the use?
Are barin' quarries, biggin' wa's,
And adding ha' to hoose.
Or toil—but where's the use?
Are barin' quarries, biggin' wa's,
And adding ha' to hoose.
188
And what is this of tyrant's grup,
And puir men's rights opposed,
Of landmarks lifted, paths ploughed up,
And commonty enclosed?
And puir men's rights opposed,
Of landmarks lifted, paths ploughed up,
And commonty enclosed?
Man, wife, an' bruckit bairns maun pack,
An' go at your command;
Wi' kist an' bundle on their back,
They're hundit aff the land.
An' go at your command;
Wi' kist an' bundle on their back,
They're hundit aff the land.
You spurn the cottar from his cot,
The cottage from the green;
And where the poor man's home was not,
Your high ha' door is seen.
The cottage from the green;
And where the poor man's home was not,
Your high ha' door is seen.
But there's a Ha' wha's door is sma',
To which a' backs maun boo;
And this great Ha' that waits us a',
Awaits baith them an' you.
To which a' backs maun boo;
And this great Ha' that waits us a',
Awaits baith them an' you.
189
Hughie marks with delight the Return of Spring.
“Diffugere nives.”
—Car. iv. 7.
—Car. iv. 7.
Noo swallow-birds begin to big,
An' primrose-flooers to blaw;
An' Jockie whistles doun the rig
A fareweel to the snaw;
An' glints o' sunshine, glancin' gleg,
Licht up the buddin' shaw;
An' westlin' winds are playin' tig
Round ae bewildered craw.
An' primrose-flooers to blaw;
An' Jockie whistles doun the rig
A fareweel to the snaw;
An' glints o' sunshine, glancin' gleg,
Licht up the buddin' shaw;
An' westlin' winds are playin' tig
Round ae bewildered craw.
Auld Tammas to the gavle-wa'
Nails up a cherry twig;
An' Mar'an waters, raw by raw,
Her bleachin' wi' a pig;
An' yonder—he's been lang awa'—
Comes Packie owre the brig;
An' country lads may noo gang braw,
An' country lasses trig.
Nails up a cherry twig;
An' Mar'an waters, raw by raw,
Her bleachin' wi' a pig;
190
Comes Packie owre the brig;
An' country lads may noo gang braw,
An' country lasses trig.
191
Hughie's Friend, the Farmer of Westerha'.
“In reducta valle mugientium
Prospectat errantes greges.”
—Epod. 2.
Prospectat errantes greges.”
—Epod. 2.
Aboon the braes I see him stand,
The tapmost corner o' his land,
An' scan wi' care, owre hill an' plain,
A prospect he may ca' his ain.
The tapmost corner o' his land,
An' scan wi' care, owre hill an' plain,
A prospect he may ca' his ain.
His yowes ayont the hillocks feed,
Weel herdit in by wakefu' Tweed,
An' canny through the loan his kye
Gang creepin' to the byre doun by.
Weel herdit in by wakefu' Tweed,
An' canny through the loan his kye
Gang creepin' to the byre doun by.
His hayfields lie fu' smoothly shorn,
An' ripenin' rise his rigs o' corn;
A simmer's e'enin' glory fa's
Upon his homestead's sober wa's.
An' ripenin' rise his rigs o' corn;
A simmer's e'enin' glory fa's
Upon his homestead's sober wa's.
192
A stately figure there he stands,
An' rests upon his staff his hands,—
Maist like some patriarch of eld,
In sic an e'enin's calm beheld.
An' rests upon his staff his hands,—
Maist like some patriarch of eld,
In sic an e'enin's calm beheld.
A farmer he of Ochilside,
For worth respeckit far an' wide;
A friend of justice and of truth,
A favourite wi' age an' youth.
For worth respeckit far an' wide;
A friend of justice and of truth,
A favourite wi' age an' youth.
There's no' a bairn but kens him weel,
And ilka collie's at his heel;
Nor beast nor body e'er had ocht
To wyte him wi' in deed or thocht.
And ilka collie's at his heel;
Nor beast nor body e'er had ocht
To wyte him wi' in deed or thocht.
Fu' mony a gloamin' may he stand
Aboon the braes to bless the land!
Fu' mony a simmer rise an' fa'
In beauty owre his couthie ha'!
Aboon the braes to bless the land!
Fu' mony a simmer rise an' fa'
In beauty owre his couthie ha'!
For peacefu' aye, as simmer's air,
The kindly hearts that kindle there;
Wha's friendship, sure an' aye the same,
For me mak's Westerha' a hame.
The kindly hearts that kindle there;
Wha's friendship, sure an' aye the same,
For me mak's Westerha' a hame.
193
Hughie's Letter of Invitation to the Laird, Entangled by Business or Pleasure in the Town.
“Omitte mirari beatæ
Fumum et opes strepitumque Romæ.”
—Car. iii. 29.
Fumum et opes strepitumque Romæ.”
—Car. iii. 29.
Dear laird, although the house be sma',
A but-an'-ben the sum o't a',
It hauds a drap o' usquebau'
As clear's a bead,
And aye, whene'er ye like to ca',
A welcome wi' 'd.
A but-an'-ben the sum o't a',
It hauds a drap o' usquebau'
As clear's a bead,
And aye, whene'er ye like to ca',
A welcome wi' 'd.
Ye're busy, laird; but what's the need?
It canna be the love o' greed;
It ne'er was in your father's creed:
Come up, an' bide,
An' see the flocks how fine they feed
On Ochilside.
It canna be the love o' greed;
It ne'er was in your father's creed:
Come up, an' bide,
An' see the flocks how fine they feed
On Ochilside.
194
Country and Town are badly pair'd,
Like Samson and Delila, laird;
She hauds her victims by the beard,
As weel she can do 'd.
Till in the limmer's lap, I'm fear'd,
They lose their manheid.
Like Samson and Delila, laird;
She hauds her victims by the beard,
As weel she can do 'd.
Till in the limmer's lap, I'm fear'd,
They lose their manheid.
But three mile oot, or aiblins fowre,
The vile enchantress has nae power;
In vain her glance, in vain her glower;
A nobler bliss
Begins to act that very hour—
The country's kiss.
The vile enchantress has nae power;
In vain her glance, in vain her glower;
A nobler bliss
Begins to act that very hour—
The country's kiss.
Pure air wi' whin and hawthorn sweet,
Clear burns that bathe the mountain's feet,
The hills on high, the heavens complete,
The far-aff seas—
Can streets an' chimla-pats compete
Wi' charms like these?
Clear burns that bathe the mountain's feet,
The hills on high, the heavens complete,
The far-aff seas—
Can streets an' chimla-pats compete
Wi' charms like these?
195
Tell nane. an' tak' nae fareweel grip;
Just rise, an' gie the town the slip;
Get in your hand your ridin' whip,
And up the brae
Try Dandy's mettle till your hip
'S as black's a slae!
Just rise, an' gie the town the slip;
Get in your hand your ridin' whip,
And up the brae
Try Dandy's mettle till your hip
'S as black's a slae!
Then, like a king that wears a crown,
On hills that are your ain look roun';
An' lead the life a' lives aboon
In God's daylicht;
And in a shepherd's hut sleep soun'
The solid nicht!
On hills that are your ain look roun';
An' lead the life a' lives aboon
In God's daylicht;
And in a shepherd's hut sleep soun'
The solid nicht!
196
Hughie Watches the Growth of the Grain.
“Segetis certa fides meæ.”
—Car. iii. 16.
—Car. iii. 16.
The seed was sawn at Hallowmas,
Amang the wind an' weet;
An' sad at heart the farmer was
To fling't amang his feet.
Then blew the bitter frosty wund,
The last leaf left the tree,
An' daisies to the frozen grund
Laid their wee heads to dee.
But there's a kindness owre us a':
Heaven sent its blankets doun,
An', 'neath the covering o' the snaw,
The seed it sleepit soun'.
Amang the wind an' weet;
An' sad at heart the farmer was
To fling't amang his feet.
Then blew the bitter frosty wund,
The last leaf left the tree,
An' daisies to the frozen grund
Laid their wee heads to dee.
But there's a kindness owre us a':
Heaven sent its blankets doun,
An', 'neath the covering o' the snaw,
The seed it sleepit soun'.
An' still it sleepit, deaf an' dumb
As are the kirkyaird dead,
While Boreas threshed his battle-drum,
An' thundered overhead.
Alas! it was the wildest bit
O' a' the widowed year:
Save ghaistly mune, or poacher's fit,
Nae visitor cam' near.
As are the kirkyaird dead,
While Boreas threshed his battle-drum,
An' thundered overhead.
197
O' a' the widowed year:
Save ghaistly mune, or poacher's fit,
Nae visitor cam' near.
At last the time o' life cam' round
Where it lay sleepin' warm,
An' timidly abune the ground
It reached a tiny arm.
It rose; and to the sun so free
Stood shivering like a child,
That, naked on its mother's knee,
Looks round to one that smiled.
Where it lay sleepin' warm,
An' timidly abune the ground
It reached a tiny arm.
It rose; and to the sun so free
Stood shivering like a child,
That, naked on its mother's knee,
Looks round to one that smiled.
But Winter's reign was not yet done;
And skies gat overcast,
And strife across the troubled sun
In fitful tumult past.
The East sent many a withering blight,
The North sent hail an' rain;
Yet still it twinkled to the light,
And, trembling, rose again.
And skies gat overcast,
And strife across the troubled sun
In fitful tumult past.
The East sent many a withering blight,
The North sent hail an' rain;
Yet still it twinkled to the light,
And, trembling, rose again.
198
It seemed endowed wi' many lives
To meet its many foes,
For still, from blasts that nipt like knives
Altho' it shrank, it rose.
And still it braved the Winter's blast,
An' tholed the Winter scorn;
And April kindness kissed at last
The persevering corn!
To meet its many foes,
For still, from blasts that nipt like knives
Altho' it shrank, it rose.
And still it braved the Winter's blast,
An' tholed the Winter scorn;
And April kindness kissed at last
The persevering corn!
An' now a stately stalk it rear'd
That took the farmer's ee;
An' bore a gallant head and beard
That flourished fair to see.
An', rustling, waving, doun the rig
It sported and it sprang;
While swallows glanced abune at tig,
An' laverocks soared an' sang.
Then golden days, an' farmers' praise,
John Barleycorn, were thine;
And lovers' walks, and whispered talks
By moonlight, more divine!
That took the farmer's ee;
An' bore a gallant head and beard
That flourished fair to see.
An', rustling, waving, doun the rig
It sported and it sprang;
While swallows glanced abune at tig,
An' laverocks soared an' sang.
Then golden days, an' farmers' praise,
John Barleycorn, were thine;
And lovers' walks, and whispered talks
By moonlight, more divine!
199
Hughie Celebrates his Fiftieth Year.
“Festo quid potius die faciam?
Prome reconditum Cæcubum.”
—Car. iii. 28.
Prome reconditum Cæcubum.”
—Car. iii. 28.
This nicht I'm fifty,—fifty, Bess!
Gang ben the hoose an' ripe the press,
An', what ye find o' whisky, fess
Soberly oot:
This nicht we'll hae a social gless
An' sang aboot.
Gang ben the hoose an' ripe the press,
An', what ye find o' whisky, fess
Soberly oot:
This nicht we'll hae a social gless
An' sang aboot.
When I was twenty I was tauld
When I was fifty I was auld:
I'm fifty oot, yet I'll be bauld,
Laird o' the truth,
To swear I'm just as yap an' yauld
As e'er was youth.
When I was fifty I was auld:
I'm fifty oot, yet I'll be bauld,
Laird o' the truth,
To swear I'm just as yap an' yauld
As e'er was youth.
200
At fifty, wi' a conscience clear,
The man that sits, as I do here,
Hand-haill an' neither slow to steer
Nor quick to tire,
An' wi' that spark to poets dear
O' Nature's fire,—
The man that sits, as I do here,
Hand-haill an' neither slow to steer
Nor quick to tire,
An' wi' that spark to poets dear
O' Nature's fire,—
He's no' to maen! He's at the stage,
The table-land o' middle age;
Nae langer on life's pilgrimage
Grumblin' an' gropin',
But, backward, it's a pictured page,
Forward, it's open.
The table-land o' middle age;
Nae langer on life's pilgrimage
Grumblin' an' gropin',
But, backward, it's a pictured page,
Forward, it's open.
He's past the braes; he's at the bit
Where ane may ware his gaithered wit
And, though his daily burden's yet
A heavy load,
He travels on a surer fit
A smoother road.
Where ane may ware his gaithered wit
And, though his daily burden's yet
A heavy load,
He travels on a surer fit
A smoother road.
201
The fore-nicht flees—Time plies his saw;
See where he stoops against the wa',
Toilin' wi' measured rise an' fa'
In silent rage!
Thus eats he through life's seasons a',
Youth, manheid, age!
See where he stoops against the wa',
Toilin' wi' measured rise an' fa'
In silent rage!
Thus eats he through life's seasons a',
Youth, manheid, age!
Let's see! what's left fra last New Year?
Hand up the crock!—a chappin clear!
Gude luck an' luxury be here,
An' a side-saidle!
But this is mair than sober cheer,—
It means the ladle!
Hand up the crock!—a chappin clear!
Gude luck an' luxury be here,
An' a side-saidle!
But this is mair than sober cheer,—
It means the ladle!
And, efter a', the nicht's a youth!
Bring oot the bowl—we'll mak' the drouth!
But roar for help—there's Aury Struth
An' Davie Dinn—
Doun to the brae—head wi' your mouth
An' cry them in!
Bring oot the bowl—we'll mak' the drouth!
But roar for help—there's Aury Struth
An' Davie Dinn—
Doun to the brae—head wi' your mouth
An' cry them in!
202
Wi' the great enemy o' life
We'll wage this e'en a merry strife;
We mayna stop his nickit knife,
But there's the soond—
The deil be in my thrapple gif
We dinna droon'd!
We'll wage this e'en a merry strife;
We mayna stop his nickit knife,
But there's the soond—
The deil be in my thrapple gif
We dinna droon'd!
Wi' sowp an' sang we'se fill oor mouth,
The e'enin's only in its youth,—
It's only aucht o'clock in truth,
An' there it's chappin':
We'll drink according to our drouth—
Pour every drap in!
The e'enin's only in its youth,—
It's only aucht o'clock in truth,
An' there it's chappin':
We'll drink according to our drouth—
Pour every drap in!
203
Hughie's Song in Praise of the Simple Joys of Boyhood.
“Puræ rivus aquæ.”
—Car. iii. 16.
—Car. iii. 16.
O when I was a laddie, noo a lang time back,
I hadna mony pennies, but for joys I didna lack:
Gie me a Simmer Saturday, my wishes were complete
Wi' a lang day before me an' Devon at my feet.
I hadna mony pennies, but for joys I didna lack:
Gie me a Simmer Saturday, my wishes were complete
Wi' a lang day before me an' Devon at my feet.
I never was an angler, exceppin' in a sense;
To be a son of Izaak's I couldna mak' pretence;
But I had a fishin'-gad, and was very happy wi't,
Wi' a lang day before me an' Devon at my feet.
To be a son of Izaak's I couldna mak' pretence;
But I had a fishin'-gad, and was very happy wi't,
Wi' a lang day before me an' Devon at my feet.
I never killed a saumon: the utmost o' my tak'
Was half-a-dizzen spatties in the basket on my back;
But ance I raised a noble fish—and was content to see't
Wi' a lang day before me an' Devon at my feet.
Was half-a-dizzen spatties in the basket on my back;
But ance I raised a noble fish—and was content to see't
Wi' a lang day before me an' Devon at my feet.
204
O what cared I for catchin' fish for greed or yet for game?
To mak' a bag or mak' a brag was never yet my aim:
The fishin' was a mere pretence to win the larger treat
O' a lang day before me an' Devon at my feet.
To mak' a bag or mak' a brag was never yet my aim:
The fishin' was a mere pretence to win the larger treat
O' a lang day before me an' Devon at my feet.
There was a sense o' freedom then, that siller canna buy;
There was a joy o' living, wi' the sun high in the sky;
A day was immortality! an' livin' was sae sweet
Wi' a lang day before ye an' Devon at your feet.
There was a joy o' living, wi' the sun high in the sky;
A day was immortality! an' livin' was sae sweet
Wi' a lang day before ye an' Devon at your feet.
O we may toil for riper joys an' mair substantial gain,
But the simple joys o' laddiehood were easy to attain;
Noo for the laddie's simple joys the man amaist could greet—
For the lang day that's gane for aye, an' Devon at his feet!
But the simple joys o' laddiehood were easy to attain;
Noo for the laddie's simple joys the man amaist could greet—
For the lang day that's gane for aye, an' Devon at his feet!
205
Hughie's Letter to a Prosperous Friend.
“Bene est, cui deus obtulit
Parcâ, quod satis est, manu.”
—Car. iii. 16.
Parcâ, quod satis est, manu.”
—Car. iii. 16.
Dear fellow-pilgrim in the vale,
Why should ye langer weep and wail?
Your health is gude, your hands are hale,
Your conscience free—
Deil hae't if onything ye ail
Nae mair than me.
Why should ye langer weep and wail?
Your health is gude, your hands are hale,
Your conscience free—
Deil hae't if onything ye ail
Nae mair than me.
Ye've loyal sons; ye've lasses braw,
Four dainty blossoms fragrant a'—
Lang may they brighten hearth and ha',
Yours or anither's!
Heaven's blessing on their beauty fa',
And on their brithers!
Four dainty blossoms fragrant a'—
Lang may they brighten hearth and ha',
Yours or anither's!
Heaven's blessing on their beauty fa',
And on their brithers!
206
The warld has favoured ye: your schemes
Werena the bonnie baseless dreams
That lure, an' loup to wild extremes,
To land i' Puirhouse;
But solid as the wa's an' beams
O' Warks an' Warehouse.
Werena the bonnie baseless dreams
That lure, an' loup to wild extremes,
To land i' Puirhouse;
But solid as the wa's an' beams
O' Warks an' Warehouse.
Yet wealth brings rarely heart-of-ease:
Even he, wha, if his lairdship please,
In coach-an'-pair, wi' hands on knees,
Can saftly ride,
May envy Jock his bread-an'-cheese
At yon dyke-side.
Even he, wha, if his lairdship please,
In coach-an'-pair, wi' hands on knees,
Can saftly ride,
May envy Jock his bread-an'-cheese
At yon dyke-side.
He's king wha bears a level mind
Strengthened by truth, by love refined,
In brotherhood with all mankind,
And, for the rest,
To Heaven's high will serene resigned,
And self-possest!
Strengthened by truth, by love refined,
In brotherhood with all mankind,
And, for the rest,
To Heaven's high will serene resigned,
And self-possest!
209
What though by Fortune he's bereft?
Tak', limmer, fra him wi' your left
Whate'er your richt hand gave o' gift!—
He'll mak' a fend
In honest poverty to shift
On to the end.
Tak', limmer, fra him wi' your left
Whate'er your richt hand gave o' gift!—
He'll mak' a fend
In honest poverty to shift
On to the end.
210
Hughie Directs the Rejoicings for the Queen's Jubilee.
“Sera in cœlum redeas diuque
Læta intersis populo Quirini!”
—Car. i. 2.
Læta intersis populo Quirini!”
—Car. i. 2.
Ye that are lords o' fixed degree,
Ye that are lords by whylies;
Ye proveses o' rank, an' ye
That are but baron-bailies;
Ye members o' the shires an' broughs,
Win up, an' haud ye ready
To boo your backs an' crook your houghs
Afore your sovran leddy!
Ye that are lords by whylies;
Ye proveses o' rank, an' ye
That are but baron-bailies;
Ye members o' the shires an' broughs,
Win up, an' haud ye ready
To boo your backs an' crook your houghs
Afore your sovran leddy!
Ye ministers; an' men o' weir—
Peace sodgers an' land sailors,
Auld warriors, to the service dear,
An' young anes, dear to tailors;
Ye new-made knichts an' nobles a',—
She made ye men o' honour,—
Weel may ye rank up in a raw,
An' shower your thanks upon her!
Peace sodgers an' land sailors,
Auld warriors, to the service dear,
An' young anes, dear to tailors;
211
She made ye men o' honour,—
Weel may ye rank up in a raw,
An' shower your thanks upon her!
Ye waiting dames, sae dink an' braw
Wi' lades o' costly claithing;
Ye bonnie lasses, best o' a'
Wi' just a flow'r—or naething;
Ye office wands; an' flunkey lords;
An' pages, pouthered meetly,
Noo hald a tight grip o' the cords,
An' guide the course discreetly!
Wi' lades o' costly claithing;
Ye bonnie lasses, best o' a'
Wi' just a flow'r—or naething;
Ye office wands; an' flunkey lords;
An' pages, pouthered meetly,
Noo hald a tight grip o' the cords,
An' guide the course discreetly!
Ye college dons, fra proctor doun
To him that but professes,
Noo, noo's the time to tuck your goun
An' draw up your addresses:
An' let your Latin be as snug
As if she kent the round o't,
For, by my faith, she'll lend a lug
An' judge ye by the sound o't!
To him that but professes,
Noo, noo's the time to tuck your goun
An' draw up your addresses:
An' let your Latin be as snug
As if she kent the round o't,
For, by my faith, she'll lend a lug
An' judge ye by the sound o't!
212
Ye parsons, groanin' aye wi' griefs,
The warld's maybe mendin';
Ye lawyers, lay aside your briefs,
Ill-named—they ne'er have endin';
An' tak' the hills or tak' the dales
As wide as e'er ye wandered,
Like laddies broken fra the schules,
An' free o' stripe an' standard!
The warld's maybe mendin';
Ye lawyers, lay aside your briefs,
Ill-named—they ne'er have endin';
An' tak' the hills or tak' the dales
As wide as e'er ye wandered,
Like laddies broken fra the schules,
An' free o' stripe an' standard!
An' lastly, ye that flood the street,
A roarin' spate o' people,
Splashed up to wa' an' window-seat,
To chimla-stack an' steeple,—
It sets ye weel to mak' the din
Ye may indulge the morn,
But dinna loup oot o' your skin,
And be content wi' roar'n'!
A roarin' spate o' people,
Splashed up to wa' an' window-seat,
To chimla-stack an' steeple,—
It sets ye weel to mak' the din
Ye may indulge the morn,
But dinna loup oot o' your skin,
And be content wi' roar'n'!
213
POSTSCRIPT.
Ye hills, sune to be blazin' hie,
As if by lightning smitten;
Ye countries, scattered owre the sea,
That mak' the Greater Britain,
Shout, and shine oot! tell a' that speir,
Wi' a' the speed ye may noo,
That, after towlin' fifty year,
Our Queen tak's holiday noo!
As if by lightning smitten;
Ye countries, scattered owre the sea,
That mak' the Greater Britain,
Shout, and shine oot! tell a' that speir,
Wi' a' the speed ye may noo,
That, after towlin' fifty year,
Our Queen tak's holiday noo!
214
Hughie Lectures the Local Editor, gone abroad on Leave and enjoying himself.
“Pollicitus meliora!”
—Car. i. 29.
—Car. i. 29.
Fra whaur, in search o' Simmer air,
Southward amang the frem'd ye fare,
Till in a sark, or little mair,
Ye gang stravaigin',—
Come hame an' fill your vacant chair,
Ye shameless pagan!
Southward amang the frem'd ye fare,
Till in a sark, or little mair,
Ye gang stravaigin',—
Come hame an' fill your vacant chair,
Ye shameless pagan!
We've traced ye to the banks o' Nile;
Our een's been on ye a' the while;
And, though at times ye've raised the smile,
We've thocht again—
“The dog!” we've said, “is this his style
When aff the chain?”
Our een's been on ye a' the while;
And, though at times ye've raised the smile,
We've thocht again—
“The dog!” we've said, “is this his style
When aff the chain?”
215
The ease of Eastern life, the bliss,
Ye've seen't: ye've said, “How fair it is!”
Ye've greetit Egypt wi' a kiss,
Voluptuous taed!
What saftenin' o' the heart was this?
And o' the heid?
Ye've seen't: ye've said, “How fair it is!”
Ye've greetit Egypt wi' a kiss,
Voluptuous taed!
What saftenin' o' the heart was this?
And o' the heid?
Her flowin' dress o' divers hue,
Her glowin' een, her meltin' mou'—
Hoo has the glamour o' the view
Played to befule ye!
A towmont o' the kilt, I troo,
Ye'll need to cule ye!
Her glowin' een, her meltin' mou'—
Hoo has the glamour o' the view
Played to befule ye!
A towmont o' the kilt, I troo,
Ye'll need to cule ye!
Come back, an' tak' a winter tour
Amang the snaws on Rannoch moor;
Or, better, listen for an 'oor
To John M'Caskill:
Ae dose o' him's the only cure
For you, ye rascal!
Amang the snaws on Rannoch moor;
Or, better, listen for an 'oor
To John M'Caskill:
Ae dose o' him's the only cure
For you, ye rascal!
216
He'll cure ye o' your rovin' een;
He'll tell ye whaur your thochts hae been;
He'll purge your mind an' morals clean,
An' scour your passions;
Till ye renounce the Egyptian queen
An' a' her fashions!
He'll tell ye whaur your thochts hae been;
He'll purge your mind an' morals clean,
An' scour your passions;
Till ye renounce the Egyptian queen
An' a' her fashions!
217
A Wet Day: Hughie's Pity for the Tinklers.
The mist lies like a plaid on plain,
The dyke-taps a' are black wi' rain,
A soakit head the clover hings,
On ilka puddle rise the rings.
The dyke-taps a' are black wi' rain,
A soakit head the clover hings,
On ilka puddle rise the rings.
Sair dings the rain upon the road,—
It dings, an' nae devallin' o'd;
Adoun the gutter rins a rill
Micht halflins ca' a country mill.
It dings, an' nae devallin' o'd;
Adoun the gutter rins a rill
Micht halflins ca' a country mill.
The very roadman's left the road:
The only kind o' beas' abroad
Are dyucks, rejoicin' i' the flood,
An' pyots, clatterin' i' the wud.
The only kind o' beas' abroad
Are dyucks, rejoicin' i' the flood,
An' pyots, clatterin' i' the wud.
218
On sic a day wha tak's the gate?
The cadger? maybe; but he's late.
The carrier? na! he doesna flit
Unless, D.V., the pooers permit.
The cadger? maybe; but he's late.
The carrier? na! he doesna flit
Unless, D.V., the pooers permit.
On sic a day wha tak's the gate?
The tinkler, an' his tousie mate;
He foremost, wi' a nose o' flint,
She sour an' sulky, yards ahint.
The tinkler, an' his tousie mate;
He foremost, wi' a nose o' flint,
She sour an' sulky, yards ahint.
A blanket, fra her shouthers doun,
Wraps her an' a' her bundles roun';
A second rain rins aff the skirt;
She skelps alang through dub an' dirt.
Wraps her an' a' her bundles roun';
A second rain rins aff the skirt;
She skelps alang through dub an' dirt.
Her cheeks are red, her een are sma',
Her head wi' rain-draps beadit a';
The yellow hair, like wires o' bress,
Springs, thrivin' in the rain, like gress.
Her head wi' rain-draps beadit a';
The yellow hair, like wires o' bress,
Springs, thrivin' in the rain, like gress.
Her man an' maister stalks in front,
Silent mair than a tinkler's wont;
His wife an' warkshop there ahint him,—
This day he caresna if he tint them.
Silent mair than a tinkler's wont;
His wife an' warkshop there ahint him,—
This day he caresna if he tint them.
221
His hands are in his pouches deep,
He snooves alang like ane in sleep,
His only movement's o' his legs,
He carries a' aboon like eggs.
He snooves alang like ane in sleep,
His only movement's o' his legs,
He carries a' aboon like eggs.
Sma' wecht! his skeleton an' skin,
And a dour heavy thocht within.
His claes, sae weel wi' weet they suit him,
They're like a second skin aboot him.
And a dour heavy thocht within.
His claes, sae weel wi' weet they suit him,
They're like a second skin aboot him.
They're doun the road, they're oot o' sicht;
They'll reach the howff by fa' o' nicht,
In Poussie Nancy's cowp the horn,
An' tak' the wanderin' gate the morn.
They'll reach the howff by fa' o' nicht,
In Poussie Nancy's cowp the horn,
An' tak' the wanderin' gate the morn.
They'll gie their weasands there a weet,
Wi' kindred bodies there they'll meet,
Wi' drookit gangerels o' the clan,
The surgeons o' the pat an' pan.
Wi' kindred bodies there they'll meet,
Wi' drookit gangerels o' the clan,
The surgeons o' the pat an' pan.
Already on the rain-washed wa'
A darker gloom begins to fa':
Sooms fra the sicht the soakin' plain,—
It's closin' for a nicht o' rain.
A darker gloom begins to fa':
Sooms fra the sicht the soakin' plain,—
It's closin' for a nicht o' rain.
222
Hughie's Version of the Sitting Member's Address.
Electors by the Norlan' Firth,
Your wisdom's equal to your wirth;
Ye chose me at a whip o' dearth
To represent ye!
I've ta'en a firmer grip i' yearth
Since first I kent ye.
Your wisdom's equal to your wirth;
Ye chose me at a whip o' dearth
To represent ye!
I've ta'en a firmer grip i' yearth
Since first I kent ye.
Wow! but this warld's a canty hole
Surveyed by him that heads a poll,
Wha's friends without a murmur thole
His capers mony,
An' crack him up till, like a coal,
He's bleezin' bonnie!
Surveyed by him that heads a poll,
Wha's friends without a murmur thole
His capers mony,
An' crack him up till, like a coal,
He's bleezin' bonnie!
223
What, what had I to win your favours
When Damheid, for my misbehavours,
Maist like an auld cask dung to stavers,
Despatched me rowin',
Wi' deil ha'et but a tongue an' slavers
To start anew on?
When Damheid, for my misbehavours,
Maist like an auld cask dung to stavers,
Despatched me rowin',
Wi' deil ha'et but a tongue an' slavers
To start anew on?
By this, I micht hae been forgotten,
My public reputation rotten,
Gien ower to eild and anecdotin';
Or, at the best,
Wi' handbag round the counties trottin'
In fruitless quest.
My public reputation rotten,
Gien ower to eild and anecdotin';
Or, at the best,
Wi' handbag round the counties trottin'
In fruitless quest.
While here I am, this braw November,
Lookin' again to be your Member,
Nae fossil auld, nor brunt-oot ember,
But het an' smokin';
Wi' promises—which, please remember,
May a' be broken!
Lookin' again to be your Member,
Nae fossil auld, nor brunt-oot ember,
But het an' smokin';
Wi' promises—which, please remember,
May a' be broken!
224
Nae doot it's feckly wrang to lee;
But then, lang-windit naigs like me
Maun rin baith hand an' helter free
As Nature teaches;
An', wantin' whids, whaur wad they be,
My bonnie speeches?
But then, lang-windit naigs like me
Maun rin baith hand an' helter free
As Nature teaches;
An', wantin' whids, whaur wad they be,
My bonnie speeches?
Whiddin's an airt: ye tak your aith;
Ye promise “that's as sure as death”;
Ye rap it oot to get a breath
Or hide a stammer;
A kind o' wild rhetoric wreath,
It decks your grammar!
Ye promise “that's as sure as death”;
Ye rap it oot to get a breath
Or hide a stammer;
A kind o' wild rhetoric wreath,
It decks your grammar!
I keep my promise when I can;
But, if I state, an' stick my plan,
What waur am I than ony man
That's changed his mind?
He's wiser noo than he was than,
An' that ye'll find.
But, if I state, an' stick my plan,
What waur am I than ony man
That's changed his mind?
He's wiser noo than he was than,
An' that ye'll find.
225
Sae dinna wonder nor repine,
Gude, far-aff, faithfu' friends o' mine,
If noo-an'-than I seem to tyne
Regaird for truth;
And oh! preserve the cordial twine
That binds us baith!
Gude, far-aff, faithfu' friends o' mine,
If noo-an'-than I seem to tyne
Regaird for truth;
And oh! preserve the cordial twine
That binds us baith!
226
Hughie in Praise of the Native Brew.
Nice-gabbit Fortune, wi' her wines,
And a' thing braw aboot her!—
The ware that on my dresser shines
Is hamely pig an' pewter.
Yet wha, in gold or siller cup,
For foreign drink wad hanker,
If bauld John Barleycorn fill up
His toddy-bowl or tankar'?
And a' thing braw aboot her!—
The ware that on my dresser shines
Is hamely pig an' pewter.
Yet wha, in gold or siller cup,
For foreign drink wad hanker,
If bauld John Barleycorn fill up
His toddy-bowl or tankar'?
It's braw, nae doot, to read aboot
A vine-clad skelp o' mountain,
Wi' pendants purpling lika shoot
In clusters past a' countin';
Yet beardit John will hauld his ain
Wi' Bacchus and his vine-trees,
Whether wide-racing owre the plain
Or resting on the gantrees
A vine-clad skelp o' mountain,
Wi' pendants purpling lika shoot
In clusters past a' countin';
Yet beardit John will hauld his ain
Wi' Bacchus and his vine-trees,
Whether wide-racing owre the plain
Or resting on the gantrees
227
He shaws, in sooth, as braw a youth
Wi' awns on end, or nae beard;
But see him stoor, in pith mature,
Bedeckit wi' a grey-beard!
O fair is ilka youthfu' thing:
But mair than half their beauty
Lies in the promise o' their Spring,
The Harvest o' their duty.
Wi' awns on end, or nae beard;
But see him stoor, in pith mature,
Bedeckit wi' a grey-beard!
O fair is ilka youthfu' thing:
But mair than half their beauty
Lies in the promise o' their Spring,
The Harvest o' their duty.
The townsman airtin' to the hills
Does weel to charge his pistol;
But what avails to geizened gills
A toom bedizened crystal?
Will siller stopper mend his drouth,
Or recommend the liquor?
Gie me the neat, the naked truth,
And never mind the bicker!
Does weel to charge his pistol;
But what avails to geizened gills
A toom bedizened crystal?
Will siller stopper mend his drouth,
Or recommend the liquor?
Gie me the neat, the naked truth,
And never mind the bicker!
It's no' upon the ware ye think
When weary for a waught o't;
It's no' the veshel that ye drink
When takin' doun a draught o't:
Let but the caup be clean an' fou—
There's naething mair anent it,
Unless it be weel-pleased to view
The fair hands that present it!
When weary for a waught o't;
It's no' the veshel that ye drink
When takin' doun a draught o't:
228
There's naething mair anent it,
Unless it be weel-pleased to view
The fair hands that present it!
Gie foreign wights their foreign wines,
The produce o' their country;
And let abee the ware that shines
On sideboards o' the gentry.
Auld Nature turns the tap for a',
Wherever men are plantit;
And, by her gude an' gracious law,
We hae the browst we wantit.
The produce o' their country;
And let abee the ware that shines
On sideboards o' the gentry.
Auld Nature turns the tap for a',
Wherever men are plantit;
And, by her gude an' gracious law,
We hae the browst we wantit.
229
Hughie's Monument.
“Non omnis moriar.”
—Car. iii. 30.
—Car. iii. 30.
In vain the future snaps his fangs;
The tyke may rage, he canna wrang's;
I put my hand upon my sangs
Without a swither;
To me this monument belangs,
I need nae ither!
The tyke may rage, he canna wrang's;
I put my hand upon my sangs
Without a swither;
To me this monument belangs,
I need nae ither!
It's no' in granite to endoor;
Sandstane comes ripplin' doun like stoor;
Marble, it canna stand the shoo'r,
It lasts nae time:
There's naething yet has half the poo'r
O' silly rhyme.
Sandstane comes ripplin' doun like stoor;
Marble, it canna stand the shoo'r,
It lasts nae time:
There's naething yet has half the poo'r
O' silly rhyme.
230
The pyramids hae tint their tale,
It's lang since they begoud to fail,—
They're either murlin' doun to meal
Or fog-enwrappit;
While Horace at this hour's as hale
As e'er he stappit!
It's lang since they begoud to fail,—
They're either murlin' doun to meal
Or fog-enwrappit;
While Horace at this hour's as hale
As e'er he stappit!
Sae I may say 't without a lee
I dinna a'thegither dee;
Therefore forbear to greet for me
When I'm awa';
And keep a dry, a drouthy ee,
I charge ye a'.
I dinna a'thegither dee;
Therefore forbear to greet for me
When I'm awa';
And keep a dry, a drouthy ee,
I charge ye a'.
When at my door the hearse draws up,
And Kate hands roun' the dirgy-cup,
Nae friend o' mine will tak' a sup
For that the less,
But calmly wi' a sober grup
Cowp owre his gless.
And Kate hands roun' the dirgy-cup,
Nae friend o' mine will tak' a sup
For that the less,
But calmly wi' a sober grup
Cowp owre his gless.
231
The better part o' me remains!
Where Allan water weets the plains,
An' Devon, crystal but for rains,
Gangs wandering wide,
Lang after me ye'll hear my strains
On Ochilside.
Where Allan water weets the plains,
An' Devon, crystal but for rains,
Gangs wandering wide,
Lang after me ye'll hear my strains
On Ochilside.
| Horace in Homespun by Hugh Haliburton [i.e. J. L. Robertson] | |