 | Annie Weir and Other Poems |  |
183
OCTOBER—THE GREEN HILLSIDE.
A song for dun October,
That tints the woods wi' broon,
And fills wi' pensive rustling
The wooded dells aroun',
While lintie, merle, and mavis
Nae langer pipe wi' pride,
Nor larks wi' song salute us
On the green hillside.
Auld nests are noo beginning
To peep frae woods fast thinning,
And, wi' nae thocht o' sinning,
Lairds death are scatterin' wide;
While some are grumblin' sairly,
O' fields that yield but sparely;
But nature yet looks rarely
On the green hillside.
That tints the woods wi' broon,
And fills wi' pensive rustling
The wooded dells aroun',
While lintie, merle, and mavis
Nae langer pipe wi' pride,
Nor larks wi' song salute us
On the green hillside.
Auld nests are noo beginning
To peep frae woods fast thinning,
And, wi' nae thocht o' sinning,
Lairds death are scatterin' wide;
While some are grumblin' sairly,
O' fields that yield but sparely;
But nature yet looks rarely
On the green hillside.
184
What though our posie borders
In waefu' plight are seen—
Though stocks and staring dahlias
Hae tint their summer sheen?
Thy hoary dawns, October,
They ne'er were meant to bide,
Unlike the halesome clover
On the green hillside.
Though Robin's town-notes swelling,
O' summer's flight are telling,
A sober thought compelling,
That nane would seek to hide;
Shall we at hame sit chaunnering,
O' frost and famine maundering,
While wiser folks are wandering
On the green hillside?
In waefu' plight are seen—
Though stocks and staring dahlias
Hae tint their summer sheen?
Thy hoary dawns, October,
They ne'er were meant to bide,
Unlike the halesome clover
On the green hillside.
Though Robin's town-notes swelling,
O' summer's flight are telling,
A sober thought compelling,
That nane would seek to hide;
Shall we at hame sit chaunnering,
O' frost and famine maundering,
While wiser folks are wandering
On the green hillside?
We'll see the souchin' peesweeps,
In gatherin' flocks prepared
To leave the glen and meadows,
Whare love's delights they shared;
Their cheerfu' cries we hear nae,
As owre our heads they glide.
Poor birds! they part in silence
Wi' the green hillside.
And though nae lambkin's gambols
May cheer us on our rambles,
O' hips, and haws, and brambles,
Ilk brake we'll reive wi' pride,
And pu' the lingering gowan,
Whare, late, the clustered rowan,
In scarlet grandeur glowin',
Graced the green hillside.
In gatherin' flocks prepared
To leave the glen and meadows,
Whare love's delights they shared;
185
As owre our heads they glide.
Poor birds! they part in silence
Wi' the green hillside.
And though nae lambkin's gambols
May cheer us on our rambles,
O' hips, and haws, and brambles,
Ilk brake we'll reive wi' pride,
And pu' the lingering gowan,
Whare, late, the clustered rowan,
In scarlet grandeur glowin',
Graced the green hillside.
When streams the gouden sunset
Frae 'tween the hills and cl'uds,
While hangs the double rainbow
Aboon the sparkling woods,
In the herald lull that tells us
The storm-king by will ride,
Oh! wha would haste in terror
Frae the green hillside?
What though the clouds close o'er us,
And glens grow dark before us,
Some bush frae blustering Boreas,
Will ample beil' provide,
While thoughts we lang shall treasure,
The bairns o' purest pleasure,
Shall leap in canty measure
On the green hillside.
Frae 'tween the hills and cl'uds,
While hangs the double rainbow
Aboon the sparkling woods,
In the herald lull that tells us
The storm-king by will ride,
Oh! wha would haste in terror
Frae the green hillside?
186
And glens grow dark before us,
Some bush frae blustering Boreas,
Will ample beil' provide,
While thoughts we lang shall treasure,
The bairns o' purest pleasure,
Shall leap in canty measure
On the green hillside.
Oh ye wha life are wearin'
Amid the city's smeek,
It's no in noisy taverns
Ye pleasure's face should seek.
'Mang “social tankards foamin',”
She cares nae lang to bide,
But weel she lo'es the freshness
O' the green hillside.
For summer's flight she cares nae,
And winter's frown she fears nae;
To slight poor toil she dares nae,
Nor frae him seeks to hide.
By burnies murmuring sweetly,
At morn or e'en she'll meet ye,
And wi' a smile will greet ye,
On the green hillside.
Amid the city's smeek,
It's no in noisy taverns
Ye pleasure's face should seek.
'Mang “social tankards foamin',”
She cares nae lang to bide,
But weel she lo'es the freshness
O' the green hillside.
For summer's flight she cares nae,
And winter's frown she fears nae;
To slight poor toil she dares nae,
Nor frae him seeks to hide.
187
At morn or e'en she'll meet ye,
And wi' a smile will greet ye,
On the green hillside.
| Annie Weir and Other Poems | |