 | Poems And Songs |  |
10
SPAE CRAFT.
My bairn, while thy mither rests, tired wi' her toil,
While the pan's chirmin' sweetly its promise to boil,
While nae neebor draps in the “wee stranger to see,”
Or to “taste,” and foretell what a beauty thou'lt be,
Shall I play the warlock wi' nae evil ee,
And glint at the future that's waiting on thee?
While the pan's chirmin' sweetly its promise to boil,
While nae neebor draps in the “wee stranger to see,”
Or to “taste,” and foretell what a beauty thou'lt be,
Shall I play the warlock wi' nae evil ee,
And glint at the future that's waiting on thee?
Come, let thy wee haun' lie sae gently on mine,
And let me peer into ilk curve, cross, and line:
This shows where Prosperity's path should run clear,
And these where the crosses o' life interfere.
Alas! thy wee haun' seems o' crosses filled fou,
But surely, oh, surely, I dinna read true!
And let me peer into ilk curve, cross, and line:
This shows where Prosperity's path should run clear,
And these where the crosses o' life interfere.
Alas! thy wee haun' seems o' crosses filled fou,
But surely, oh, surely, I dinna read true!
11
Can it be in scorn thou withdraw'st thus thy haun'?
Ye canna sae soon earthly souns un'erstaun':
But maybe the soul frae its first hour below
Instinctively shrinks frae the shadow o' woe;
And has thy ain faither, while o' thee sae fain,
In daffin' thus caused thee thy first thrill o' pain?
Ye canna sae soon earthly souns un'erstaun':
But maybe the soul frae its first hour below
Instinctively shrinks frae the shadow o' woe;
And has thy ain faither, while o' thee sae fain,
In daffin' thus caused thee thy first thrill o' pain?
I see thee, sweet bairnie, a bud on life's tree,
Wi' twa shelterin' leaves in thy mither and me;
I see thee, while sweeps the blight blast o'er the field,
Cour cozy and trustfully under thy bield;
But twa bonnie buds o' mair promise than thee
Hae shrunk 'neath that shelter, and fa'en on the lea.
Wi' twa shelterin' leaves in thy mither and me;
I see thee, while sweeps the blight blast o'er the field,
Cour cozy and trustfully under thy bield;
But twa bonnie buds o' mair promise than thee
Hae shrunk 'neath that shelter, and fa'en on the lea.
Alas! I had better the spae trade let be,—
Already a heart-mist cluds up o'er my ee;
For, lo! on the first arch o' life's brig, wi' pain,
I see a sweet, cherub-faced, todlin' wee wean,
An orphan—the features I canna discern,
But surely they canna be thine, my ain bairn.
Already a heart-mist cluds up o'er my ee;
For, lo! on the first arch o' life's brig, wi' pain,
I see a sweet, cherub-faced, todlin' wee wean,
An orphan—the features I canna discern,
But surely they canna be thine, my ain bairn.
12
Oh, no! noo the heart-mist is dichtit awa',
And, rosy and curly, and hearty and braw,
I see oor ain Agnes, nae orphan, I ween,
Dance o'er a' life's arches frae ane to eighteen;
And then—the dark future's nae mair my concern—
Heaven best kens the lad that were worth sic a bairn.
And, rosy and curly, and hearty and braw,
I see oor ain Agnes, nae orphan, I ween,
Dance o'er a' life's arches frae ane to eighteen;
And then—the dark future's nae mair my concern—
Heaven best kens the lad that were worth sic a bairn.
Right puirly, I trow, wi' thy haun' hae I sped;
Let's see what grand things in thy face may be read:
Thou smil'st, and what merry cheek-dimples are seen!
And heaven's ain blue's in thy twa blinkin' een.
Cauld, cauld were the heart, and far harder than airn,
Could o' thee say waur than “God bless thee, my bairn.”
Let's see what grand things in thy face may be read:
Thou smil'st, and what merry cheek-dimples are seen!
And heaven's ain blue's in thy twa blinkin' een.
Cauld, cauld were the heart, and far harder than airn,
Could o' thee say waur than “God bless thee, my bairn.”
Oh! what gars me sigh as I gaze on thy face,
And graces to come in its lineaments trace?
O' dangers to thee which nae love can avert,
What gars this vague fear creep sae cauld o'er my heart?
I'm thinkin', my bairn, on the battle o' life,
And wondering what skaith waits for thee in the strife.
And graces to come in its lineaments trace?
O' dangers to thee which nae love can avert,
What gars this vague fear creep sae cauld o'er my heart?
I'm thinkin', my bairn, on the battle o' life,
And wondering what skaith waits for thee in the strife.
13
Oh, never again, while thy weal is my care,
The dark, sinfu' regions o' spaedom I'll dare.
'Twere vain to expect thou wilt cost us nae tears
In our toil-wearied way through the dim hoped-for years;
But aye we'll see in thee, as sweet and as dear,
The Agnes awa' in the Agnes that's here.
The dark, sinfu' regions o' spaedom I'll dare.
'Twere vain to expect thou wilt cost us nae tears
In our toil-wearied way through the dim hoped-for years;
But aye we'll see in thee, as sweet and as dear,
The Agnes awa' in the Agnes that's here.
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