 | Poems And Songs |  |
196
THE FACES IN THE FIRE.
In langsome nichts o' winter, when frost is unco keen,
When snaw is skinklin' on the streams, and stars are scantly seen;
When gantin' in the ingle-neuk, oppressed by vague desire,
Wha hasna gazed wi' wonder at the faces in the fire?
The reek may swither, and at last refuse to tak' the lum;
Ae bairn may fiddle on the tangs, ane on the server drum;
Confusion owre the hoose may reign, but o't they dinna tire
Wha 'mang the glowin' aizles see the faces in the fire.
When snaw is skinklin' on the streams, and stars are scantly seen;
When gantin' in the ingle-neuk, oppressed by vague desire,
Wha hasna gazed wi' wonder at the faces in the fire?
The reek may swither, and at last refuse to tak' the lum;
Ae bairn may fiddle on the tangs, ane on the server drum;
Confusion owre the hoose may reign, but o't they dinna tire
Wha 'mang the glowin' aizles see the faces in the fire.
197
Frae 'tween the ribs they're keekin' oot, we ken them every ane,
E'en though there should be naething left except a nose and chin;
The fashion o' some unco mooth we see and brawly min',
And on some braid and manly broo yet trace the sorrow-line.
What happy memories some recall! and when we ithers see,
Whiles something for a moment dims the dazzled burning ee;
Some wear the smile o' heaven itsel', and some a frown sae dire;
Ah, sirs! there's something unco in the faces in the fire.
E'en though there should be naething left except a nose and chin;
The fashion o' some unco mooth we see and brawly min',
And on some braid and manly broo yet trace the sorrow-line.
What happy memories some recall! and when we ithers see,
Whiles something for a moment dims the dazzled burning ee;
Some wear the smile o' heaven itsel', and some a frown sae dire;
Ah, sirs! there's something unco in the faces in the fire.
Whiles by in hurryin' groups they pass, whiles lingerin' ane by ane,
As if they each in Memory's ha' some honoured place wad win;
Some tell o' nichts when social joy and mirth appeared supreme,
Some help us owre to dream again some early passion-dream.
Oh! dootless 'tis for some wise end they gaze upon us there—
To warm affections chilling fast, or chase tormentin' care;
Or gar us bound through life again unclogged by age's mire.
Ah! vile's the wretch wha joyless sees the faces in the fire.
As if they each in Memory's ha' some honoured place wad win;
Some tell o' nichts when social joy and mirth appeared supreme,
Some help us owre to dream again some early passion-dream.
198
To warm affections chilling fast, or chase tormentin' care;
Or gar us bound through life again unclogged by age's mire.
Ah! vile's the wretch wha joyless sees the faces in the fire.
The faces o' neglected freens, we're sure to see them there;
There o' impatient creditors we'll meet the angry stare.
If e'er, wi' mean unmanly art, ye planned a lassie's wrang,
Ye'll see her pale despairin' face the glowin' coal amang.
Ye may frae Hunger's deadly haun' hae saved a wanderin' wean,—
Its features, for a moment seen, ye ne'er may mind again;
But, ah! the face o' her ye wranged, in hopes 'twad ne'er transpire,
Is ever, ever present 'mang the faces in the fire.
There o' impatient creditors we'll meet the angry stare.
If e'er, wi' mean unmanly art, ye planned a lassie's wrang,
Ye'll see her pale despairin' face the glowin' coal amang.
Ye may frae Hunger's deadly haun' hae saved a wanderin' wean,—
Its features, for a moment seen, ye ne'er may mind again;
But, ah! the face o' her ye wranged, in hopes 'twad ne'er transpire,
Is ever, ever present 'mang the faces in the fire.
199
There's ane that was a freen' langsyne—alas! where is he noo?—
Fu' mony a year aboon his grave has fa'en the summer dew.
There's ane that was a crabbit wicht—we min' his spitefu' girn,
And there's the happy lassie's face that leeved beside the burn.
And whase is yon? We mind it noo—ah! Willie, wanderin' still;
Soon may ye hae a safe return, wi' health and wealth your fill;
And then (for to your freenship we shall ance again aspire)
We'll tell ye hoo we saw ye 'mang the faces in the fire.
Fu' mony a year aboon his grave has fa'en the summer dew.
There's ane that was a crabbit wicht—we min' his spitefu' girn,
And there's the happy lassie's face that leeved beside the burn.
And whase is yon? We mind it noo—ah! Willie, wanderin' still;
Soon may ye hae a safe return, wi' health and wealth your fill;
And then (for to your freenship we shall ance again aspire)
We'll tell ye hoo we saw ye 'mang the faces in the fire.
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