 | Poems and Songs |  |
In the Glen of Dalziel.
“Oh! ken ye wha has left us?”
Said the Woodruff to the Fern,
“Oh! ken ye wha has left us?
E'en the laird's sweet laddie-bairn.
Never mair amang the starworts
In the sunshine he'll be seen,
Wi' his hauns as white's my petals,
And his bonny glancin' e'en;
For they've laid him in the shadow
That nae sunbeam lichts, I ween.
Said the Woodruff to the Fern,
“Oh! ken ye wha has left us?
E'en the laird's sweet laddie-bairn.
Never mair amang the starworts
In the sunshine he'll be seen,
Wi' his hauns as white's my petals,
And his bonny glancin' e'en;
For they've laid him in the shadow
That nae sunbeam lichts, I ween.
23
“Hae ye heard the waefu' wailin'
O' the linties, Lady Fern?
Hae ye heard their waefu' wailin'
For the laird's lost laddie-bairn?
E'en the kaes are chatterin' saftly,
An' the robin sings, they say,
As he sings in dull October,
When the grass is turnin' grey—
As when ne'er a flower can hear him
On a cheerless winter day.
O' the linties, Lady Fern?
Hae ye heard their waefu' wailin'
For the laird's lost laddie-bairn?
E'en the kaes are chatterin' saftly,
An' the robin sings, they say,
As he sings in dull October,
When the grass is turnin' grey—
As when ne'er a flower can hear him
On a cheerless winter day.
“Heard ye ocht like some ane sabbin',
Lady Fern, fu' late yestreen,
When the stars we saw were glimmerin'
In the lift like tearfu' een?
While the ivy leaves were flappin'
A' alang the kirk-yaird wa',
An' the dew, like tears, aboot us
Frae the trees began to fa'—
Heard ye ocht like some ane sabbin',
Lady Fern, yestreen ava?
Lady Fern, fu' late yestreen,
When the stars we saw were glimmerin'
In the lift like tearfu' een?
While the ivy leaves were flappin'
A' alang the kirk-yaird wa',
An' the dew, like tears, aboot us
Frae the trees began to fa'—
Heard ye ocht like some ane sabbin',
Lady Fern, yestreen ava?
24
“'Twas his mither's sel' was passin',
Wae and weary up the glen,
In sic grief as only mithers
Wha hae lost like her can ken.
There are kindly hearts aboot her
That to see her tears are sair;
An' there's ae dear ane that blythely
On himsel' would tak' her care;
But the cup o' grief's nae sweeter
Though a mournin' world may share.
Wae and weary up the glen,
In sic grief as only mithers
Wha hae lost like her can ken.
There are kindly hearts aboot her
That to see her tears are sair;
An' there's ae dear ane that blythely
On himsel' would tak' her care;
But the cup o' grief's nae sweeter
Though a mournin' world may share.
“Oh! gin we micht but tell her,
While she's wailin', Lady Fern,
That the flowers she'll see neist summer
But precede her bonny bairn;
We micht wile her frae her sorrow,
And wi' this micht dry her ee—
He but lies a langer winter
In the lichtless gloom than we;
But the summer will be endless
When your bairn you neist shall see.”
While she's wailin', Lady Fern,
That the flowers she'll see neist summer
But precede her bonny bairn;
We micht wile her frae her sorrow,
And wi' this micht dry her ee—
He but lies a langer winter
In the lichtless gloom than we;
But the summer will be endless
When your bairn you neist shall see.”
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