 | Poems and Songs |  |
Wee Wattie.
Deed, we a' but thocht shame,
When wee Wattie cam' hame,
That sic a bit neivefu' should mak sic a steer;
E'en his granny hersel'
Hadna seen nor heard tell
O' onything like him for mony a lang year.
When wee Wattie cam' hame,
That sic a bit neivefu' should mak sic a steer;
E'en his granny hersel'
Hadna seen nor heard tell
O' onything like him for mony a lang year.
And sae sure were they a'
He was wearin' awa
As gently as dew frae the flowers on the braes,
That they grudged to be fashin'
The wee thing wi' washin',
And thocht it was cruel to load him wi claes.
He was wearin' awa
As gently as dew frae the flowers on the braes,
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The wee thing wi' washin',
And thocht it was cruel to load him wi claes.
No! it wasna the gladness
O' gain, but the sadness
O' losing, we saw in ilk kin' neebor's ee;
An' the house lay in gloom—
In shadow o' doom—
Nane ventured to hope but his mither an' me.
O' gain, but the sadness
O' losing, we saw in ilk kin' neebor's ee;
An' the house lay in gloom—
In shadow o' doom—
Nane ventured to hope but his mither an' me.
We praised him, and blessed him,
An' soothed an' caressed him,
An' sang to him aft wi' fou heart an' moist ee;
An' jeered at the croakin'—
Sae cauld an' provokin'—
O' a' that were fearin' wee Wattie wad dee.
An' soothed an' caressed him,
An' sang to him aft wi' fou heart an' moist ee;
An' jeered at the croakin'—
Sae cauld an' provokin'—
O' a' that were fearin' wee Wattie wad dee.
Oor hearts aft were sair
Wi' a bye-or'nar care;
An' aft cam a demon, malignant an' grim,
An' tauld a fell tale
O' hoo Death would prevail,
An' filled, for the moment, grief's cup to the brim.
Wi' a bye-or'nar care;
An' aft cam a demon, malignant an' grim,
An' tauld a fell tale
O' hoo Death would prevail,
An' filled, for the moment, grief's cup to the brim.
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But ance when the curst
Demon whispered his worst,
An' sneered aboot christ'nin' as useless an' vain,
A smile, like the licht
O' the first star o' nicht,
Brack ower the sweet face o' oor soun'-sleepin' wean.
Demon whispered his worst,
An' sneered aboot christ'nin' as useless an' vain,
A smile, like the licht
O' the first star o' nicht,
Brack ower the sweet face o' oor soun'-sleepin' wean.
It needed na that
To inspire us, I wat,
Wi' new love for the wee thing, but faith it inspired;
An' aye as we tended,
We hoped that he mended,
An' rase frae the dreechest o' watches untired.
To inspire us, I wat,
Wi' new love for the wee thing, but faith it inspired;
An' aye as we tended,
We hoped that he mended,
An' rase frae the dreechest o' watches untired.
Yon's the laddie ye see—
No sae won'erfu' wee—
An' yon are his schule books, a dozen or mair;
An' he'll sune be a man,
That sae feebly began
His lang journey uphill, an' mak pleasant oor care.
No sae won'erfu' wee—
An' yon are his schule books, a dozen or mair;
An' he'll sune be a man,
That sae feebly began
His lang journey uphill, an' mak pleasant oor care.
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