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Puir Wee Davie: A Winter Lay.
Dedicated to the School Boards.
Puir wee Davie,
He's up before the sun,
An' oot an' paidlin' through the snaw,
Or battlin' wi' the win';
For Davie's aucht year auld an' mair,
An' sae, come o't what will,
Be't cauld or warm, through calm and storm,
He maun be at the schule.
He's up before the sun,
An' oot an' paidlin' through the snaw,
Or battlin' wi' the win';
For Davie's aucht year auld an' mair,
An' sae, come o't what will,
Be't cauld or warm, through calm and storm,
He maun be at the schule.
18
An' Davie aye frae morn to e'en
Is wi' his lessons thrang,
An' though he's never praised when richt,
He's blamed eneuch when wrang.
They gar him try a hunner things,
An' if he fails in ane,
They're at him wi' the tawse, or waur,
Till dark he's “keepit in.”
Is wi' his lessons thrang,
An' though he's never praised when richt,
He's blamed eneuch when wrang.
They gar him try a hunner things,
An' if he fails in ane,
They're at him wi' the tawse, or waur,
Till dark he's “keepit in.”
Puir wee Davie,
He maun be oot gin nine,
An' till the sun's ahint the hill
He ne'er wins back to dine.
An' aft when creepin' hame he hears
The man that's in the moon
Say saftly to his neebor starns,
“That bairn's been “keepit in.”
He maun be oot gin nine,
An' till the sun's ahint the hill
He ne'er wins back to dine.
An' aft when creepin' hame he hears
The man that's in the moon
Say saftly to his neebor starns,
“That bairn's been “keepit in.”
An' though nae waur than ither bairns,
His fauts come aye aboon;
He's leuking wrang, or sitting wrang,
Or makin' needless din;
Or maybe while the maister prays,
Wi' ae hauf-open ee,
Wee Davie's seen to smile—then doon
For “keepin' in” is he.
His fauts come aye aboon;
He's leuking wrang, or sitting wrang,
Or makin' needless din;
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Wi' ae hauf-open ee,
Wee Davie's seen to smile—then doon
For “keepin' in” is he.
Puir wee Davie,
His heart is aften fou,
An', tearfu', he his troubles tells
Wi' tremblin' voice an' mou'.
He thinks the maister's spitefu'—
Just the warst that e'er he saw—
An' wonners what he means to mak'
By “keepin' in” ava'.
His heart is aften fou,
An', tearfu', he his troubles tells
Wi' tremblin' voice an' mou'.
He thinks the maister's spitefu'—
Just the warst that e'er he saw—
An' wonners what he means to mak'
By “keepin' in” ava'.
But though till nicht he's “keepit in,”
He's no yet free frae schule,
His taties ta'en—he's thrang again
On table, chair, or stool:
There's coonts to dae—hame coonts, they say,—
An' adjectives to fin',
An' screeds frae printit books to write—
His wark is never done.
He's no yet free frae schule,
His taties ta'en—he's thrang again
On table, chair, or stool:
There's coonts to dae—hame coonts, they say,—
An' adjectives to fin',
An' screeds frae printit books to write—
His wark is never done.
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Puir wee Davie,
Fu' brawly he can spell,
An' read—what is't he canna read?—
An' nouns frae verbs can tell.
An' though sic things in aulder brains
Micht weel confusin' be,
Yet Davie's nouns and Davie's verbs
Maun never disagree.
Fu' brawly he can spell,
An' read—what is't he canna read?—
An' nouns frae verbs can tell.
An' though sic things in aulder brains
Micht weel confusin' be,
Yet Davie's nouns and Davie's verbs
Maun never disagree.
Puir wee Davie,
It's pityfu' to see
The wolf o' sorrow worryin'
A bairn sae wan an' wee,
An' hear him speak o' “weary warlds,”
Like ane that's struggled lang,
An' sees frae trouble nae relief—
There maun be something wrang.
It's pityfu' to see
The wolf o' sorrow worryin'
A bairn sae wan an' wee,
An' hear him speak o' “weary warlds,”
Like ane that's struggled lang,
An' sees frae trouble nae relief—
There maun be something wrang.
Although his big blue ee's sae bright,
He's nocht but skin and bane,
He croichles when he's cauld, and aft
Has in his side a pain.
An' though he's rosy when he rins,
Or goufs about his ba',
His bits o' cheeks are lily-pale
As soon's the fun's awa'.
He's nocht but skin and bane,
He croichles when he's cauld, and aft
Has in his side a pain.
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Or goufs about his ba',
His bits o' cheeks are lily-pale
As soon's the fun's awa'.
Oh ye! our honour'd “Board,” weel-waled,
Wha tax us as ye will,
Why mak' ye, in your zeal for lair,
A hothouse o' the schule,
Whare bairns, like plants in raws arranged,
Maun ere their season blaw,
To swell the maister-gar'ner's fame
An' win a prize or twa.
Wha tax us as ye will,
Why mak' ye, in your zeal for lair,
A hothouse o' the schule,
Whare bairns, like plants in raws arranged,
Maun ere their season blaw,
To swell the maister-gar'ner's fame
An' win a prize or twa.
An' ye (if sic there be), whase care
(It's best to write it plain)
Is ne'er a scholar's health, but hoo
A croon o' “grant” to gain,
Hae mercy! Dinna grudge a lauch,
If usefu' wark be done,
An' min' ye may owre-task a bairn
An' kill wi' “keepin' in.”
(It's best to write it plain)
Is ne'er a scholar's health, but hoo
A croon o' “grant” to gain,
Hae mercy! Dinna grudge a lauch,
If usefu' wark be done,
An' min' ye may owre-task a bairn
An' kill wi' “keepin' in.”
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But, patience! Puir wee Davie!
They needna owre ye craw!
Your mither kens about a plan
Will pay them back for't a':
When roon the stern Inspector comes
To see what way ye've done,
She'll jist sen' owre a line, an' say
“Wee Davie's keepit in.”
They needna owre ye craw!
Your mither kens about a plan
Will pay them back for't a':
When roon the stern Inspector comes
To see what way ye've done,
She'll jist sen' owre a line, an' say
“Wee Davie's keepit in.”
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