 | Poems |  |
110
A DOG-DAY'S PETITION.
Fortune, ye jade! it's shame an' sin
To pen your puir petitioner in
Amang Auld Reekie's dust an' din
Thae sultry simmer hoors,
When Fasney's wimplin' waters rin
Sae cool amang the moors.
To pen your puir petitioner in
Amang Auld Reekie's dust an' din
Thae sultry simmer hoors,
When Fasney's wimplin' waters rin
Sae cool amang the moors.
O, that your Blindness pity took,—
Would ope your bandaged een, an' look
Where fish-like gaspin' by a brook
Amang the channel dry,
Or wrigglin' on a ruthless hook,
Wriggle in anguish I!
Would ope your bandaged een, an' look
Where fish-like gaspin' by a brook
Amang the channel dry,
Or wrigglin' on a ruthless hook,
Wriggle in anguish I!
A big black oven seems the toun,—
Het flags below, red sun aboon,—
An', birstlin' like a joint in June
Afore the dog-day fire,
I'm rinnin' doun to creesh my shoon;
I'm taperin' like a spire.
Het flags below, red sun aboon,—
An', birstlin' like a joint in June
Afore the dog-day fire,
I'm rinnin' doun to creesh my shoon;
I'm taperin' like a spire.
111
I'm sick o' city soonds an' sichts,
O' feverish days an' sleepless nichts,
O' like-conditioned neebor-wichts,
O' auld St Giles's chime:
—The moors and burns would put's to richts
Within a fortnicht's time.
O' feverish days an' sleepless nichts,
O' like-conditioned neebor-wichts,
O' auld St Giles's chime:
—The moors and burns would put's to richts
Within a fortnicht's time.
To turn the ledger I begin,—
St Vitus' dance the figures spin,
While fancy and remembrance rin
Where Fasney, ripplin' clear,
Gars glancin' stream an' roarin' linn
Mak' music to the ear.
St Vitus' dance the figures spin,
While fancy and remembrance rin
Where Fasney, ripplin' clear,
Gars glancin' stream an' roarin' linn
Mak' music to the ear.
Ahint a heathery knowe I steal
An' drap the flee! O joy! to feel
A lusty thumper whirl your reel
An' rin oot half your line!
O joy! to see him i' the creel
His yellow length recline!
An' drap the flee! O joy! to feel
A lusty thumper whirl your reel
An' rin oot half your line!
O joy! to see him i' the creel
His yellow length recline!
Nae angler's near; the stream's your ain;
Arrange your tackle, an' to't again!
Nor scorn to list the lintie's strain,
The curlew's risin' clang;
An', happy mortal! coont it gain
Catch ye the gowkoo's sang.
Arrange your tackle, an' to't again!
Nor scorn to list the lintie's strain,
112
An', happy mortal! coont it gain
Catch ye the gowkoo's sang.
—Fortune, ye limmer! ance for a'
Upon my knees again I fa',—
Na! dinna stap your lug, an' thraw,—
Grant me twa short ooks' grace:
Ye see I'm pinin' fast awa'
Afore your very face.
Upon my knees again I fa',—
Na! dinna stap your lug, an' thraw,—
Grant me twa short ooks' grace:
Ye see I'm pinin' fast awa'
Afore your very face.
I'm dwindled doun to skin an' bane,
Dry as a speldrin or a spune,
A walkin' noonday skeleton,
Nae shadow followin' after;
I'm wanin' like the wanin' mune,
I'm i' my hin'most quarter!
Dry as a speldrin or a spune,
A walkin' noonday skeleton,
Nae shadow followin' after;
I'm wanin' like the wanin' mune,
I'm i' my hin'most quarter!
An' sune to be a bluidless ghost
Gaun daunderin' doun the gloom, an' lost;
Nae “whippin'” by Cocytus' coast,
Nae gulps o' sweet hill air,
Nae troot the black-waved waters boast,
Nae Fasney ripples there!
Gaun daunderin' doun the gloom, an' lost;
Nae “whippin'” by Cocytus' coast,
Nae gulps o' sweet hill air,
Nae troot the black-waved waters boast,
Nae Fasney ripples there!
113
—I'am aff! Fareweel the dusty dask,
Fareweel the tiresome inky task!
Fortune, your leave I dinna ask,—
Gude troth, I'm far owre nice!
I go on Fasney's banks to bask,—
It's medical advice!
Fareweel the tiresome inky task!
Fortune, your leave I dinna ask,—
Gude troth, I'm far owre nice!
I go on Fasney's banks to bask,—
It's medical advice!
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