 | Poems and Songs |  |
25
The Minister's Corn.
The minister's corn was a crap as good
As ere on the riggs o' the glebe had stood,
And the sparrows that aye 'mang the ears were seen
Were sacred birds in the minister's een—
“For the grubs they kept doon in the spring,” quoth he,
“And there's plenty for them and there's plenty for me.”
As ere on the riggs o' the glebe had stood,
And the sparrows that aye 'mang the ears were seen
Were sacred birds in the minister's een—
“For the grubs they kept doon in the spring,” quoth he,
“And there's plenty for them and there's plenty for me.”
Oh! bright was the day when the minister's man,
And the minister's lassie the hairst began,
Wi' the helpin' o' neebors twa or three;
But the weather was fickle as fickle could be;
An' though there were rainbows at nicht and at morn,
Yet dreich was the hairst o' the minister's corn.
And the minister's lassie the hairst began,
Wi' the helpin' o' neebors twa or three;
But the weather was fickle as fickle could be;
An' though there were rainbows at nicht and at morn,
Yet dreich was the hairst o' the minister's corn.
But the blast that was laden wi' rain blew oot,
And a drouthy win' cam' frae the wast aboot,
And soof't a blythe sang in the leafy nooks,
And linger'd to drink by the drookit stooks,
Till the sheaves were as dry as dry could be,
And rustled an' shook in the win' wi' glee.
But the minister's corn was hurried in,
On a threatening morning, a day owre soon—
A day owre soon, for the cloud blew by,
And the drouthy win' ruled for a week in the sky.
And a drouthy win' cam' frae the wast aboot,
And soof't a blythe sang in the leafy nooks,
And linger'd to drink by the drookit stooks,
Till the sheaves were as dry as dry could be,
And rustled an' shook in the win' wi' glee.
26
On a threatening morning, a day owre soon—
A day owre soon, for the cloud blew by,
And the drouthy win' ruled for a week in the sky.
Then oot in the morning—aye early was he—
The minister wandered, and what did he see?
But a wavering cloud whare nae cloud should be;
Nae cloud but itsel' in the breeze was borne,
And whare was its source?—e'en his ain stack o' corn.
The minister wandered, and what did he see?
But a wavering cloud whare nae cloud should be;
Nae cloud but itsel' in the breeze was borne,
And whare was its source?—e'en his ain stack o' corn.
Oh! weel micht the minister sigh, I wat,
For nae sillar linin' hae clouds like that.
But, “Swith! ca' the lassie! and, Swith! ca' the man!
Gae get a' the neebors aboot that ye can!
For if it be drouthy or if it be rain,
The stack maun be doon and in stooks again!”
Man, neebor, and lassie to help ran fain,
For the minister aye had a mind o' his ain.
And sae when the win' drank the dew o' the morn
Ance mair in the stook was the minister's corn.
“Aye, muckle gude grain has been scatter'd,” quoth he,
“But we hae't a' amang us—the sparrows and me.”
But the sun shone oot and the win' blew fair
Till the minister's corn was in stack ance mair.
For nae sillar linin' hae clouds like that.
But, “Swith! ca' the lassie! and, Swith! ca' the man!
Gae get a' the neebors aboot that ye can!
For if it be drouthy or if it be rain,
The stack maun be doon and in stooks again!”
Man, neebor, and lassie to help ran fain,
For the minister aye had a mind o' his ain.
And sae when the win' drank the dew o' the morn
Ance mair in the stook was the minister's corn.
27
“But we hae't a' amang us—the sparrows and me.”
But the sun shone oot and the win' blew fair
Till the minister's corn was in stack ance mair.
Serene in his study the minister leaned,
Where the ever-ripe hairst o' his thoughts he gleaned:
'Twas a Saturday e'en—wearin' near the Lord's Day—
And the minister's fancy had soared away
To that far happy land where the matter's all mind,
And the grossest of creatures a being refined.
'Mong the host o' the happy some few that had been
O' his flock on the earth he discovered, I ween;
For his bright eye grew brighter, and “Wha's yon I see?
I have toiled not in vain for the Master,” quoth he.
“Some grains I hae garner'd, if some hae been lost,
The proof o't is yonder in yon happy host.”
But back to the earth (they wha can may explain
Why a thought flies so fast) flashed his fancy again,
Not back to his flock, yet on this side the “bourne,”
But back to the glebe, and his ain stack o' corn.”
Then, “Oh for a thrasher,” he sighed, “wha could lay
The grain o' the glebe in a heap in one day;
But there's no such a thrasher”—when opens the door,
And the weeest o' mannikins steps up the floor;
Three spans was his stature, his beard half as lang,
And his tongue when he spoke had an east country twang;
His claes were o' moleskin wi' buttons o' pearl,
But his bearin' micht weel hae been owned by an earl;
He took aff his bonnet, and lootin' awee,
“Gudeman, was ye wantin' a thrasher?” quoth he.
Where the ever-ripe hairst o' his thoughts he gleaned:
'Twas a Saturday e'en—wearin' near the Lord's Day—
And the minister's fancy had soared away
To that far happy land where the matter's all mind,
And the grossest of creatures a being refined.
'Mong the host o' the happy some few that had been
O' his flock on the earth he discovered, I ween;
For his bright eye grew brighter, and “Wha's yon I see?
I have toiled not in vain for the Master,” quoth he.
“Some grains I hae garner'd, if some hae been lost,
The proof o't is yonder in yon happy host.”
But back to the earth (they wha can may explain
Why a thought flies so fast) flashed his fancy again,
Not back to his flock, yet on this side the “bourne,”
But back to the glebe, and his ain stack o' corn.”
28
The grain o' the glebe in a heap in one day;
But there's no such a thrasher”—when opens the door,
And the weeest o' mannikins steps up the floor;
Three spans was his stature, his beard half as lang,
And his tongue when he spoke had an east country twang;
His claes were o' moleskin wi' buttons o' pearl,
But his bearin' micht weel hae been owned by an earl;
He took aff his bonnet, and lootin' awee,
“Gudeman, was ye wantin' a thrasher?” quoth he.
The minister rose when he first saw the sicht,
And thinkin' he hardly was seein' aricht,
“What are ye? What want ye? Whence come ye?” he cried.
“Was ye wantin' a thrasher?” the dwarfie replied.
The minister stared; quoth the dwarfie again,
“Gin a thrasher ye're wantin', I ken whare there's ane.”
And thinkin' he hardly was seein' aricht,
“What are ye? What want ye? Whence come ye?” he cried.
“Was ye wantin' a thrasher?” the dwarfie replied.
The minister stared; quoth the dwarfie again,
“Gin a thrasher ye're wantin', I ken whare there's ane.”
The minister smiled—for a mortal it seemed
(Though sae wee), and its ee like a human ee gleamed
(Though a wee blinkie brichter than maist human een).
Quoth the minister, “Aye! that do I, my wee frien',
But a thousand like you I hae wark for, I ween.”
(Though sae wee), and its ee like a human ee gleamed
29
Quoth the minister, “Aye! that do I, my wee frien',
But a thousand like you I hae wark for, I ween.”
“But, hooly gudeman, I'm nae thrasher mysel',
But whare ye'll get ane 'tis my errand to tell;
And them that I serve sent me yont jist to say,
We've ane that will thrash a' your grain in a day.”
But whare ye'll get ane 'tis my errand to tell;
And them that I serve sent me yont jist to say,
We've ane that will thrash a' your grain in a day.”
“And what for a day
O' your man maun I pay?
Some bargain unholy I fear it may be;
Maun the price be a soul?
Ane?—or maybe the whole
Of the souls in the parish are wanted,” quoth he.
O' your man maun I pay?
Some bargain unholy I fear it may be;
Maun the price be a soul?
Ane?—or maybe the whole
Of the souls in the parish are wanted,” quoth he.
The mannikin leuch—“Oh, gudeman, ye're astray,
We've nae traffic in souls, sir.”
We've nae traffic in souls, sir.”
“Then what maun I pay?”
“A bucket o' water as saft as may be,
For an aizle, puir chiel, in his thrapple has he;
And a bushel o' coal a' as clean as ye can,
For the thrasher is dainty o' 's eatin', gudeman;
But spare nae the water and scrimp nae the coal,
For hunger and drouth's what oor man canna thole.
Shall we send ye oor thrasher?”
“A bucket o' water as saft as may be,
For an aizle, puir chiel, in his thrapple has he;
And a bushel o' coal a' as clean as ye can,
For the thrasher is dainty o' 's eatin', gudeman;
30
For hunger and drouth's what oor man canna thole.
Shall we send ye oor thrasher?”
“You may.”
“Then the morn
Be ready wi' horses to ca' in your corn.”
“The morn!” cried the minister.
Be ready wi' horses to ca' in your corn.”
“The morn!” cried the minister.
“Tyesday then say,”
Quoth the dwarf, “and hae plenty o' hauns for the strae.”
And then wi' a loot slow and laigh he was gane,
And the minister lean'd in his study alane.
Quoth the dwarf, “and hae plenty o' hauns for the strae.”
And then wi' a loot slow and laigh he was gane,
And the minister lean'd in his study alane.
The dawn o' the Tyesday was hardly awa
Till the thrasher appeared in his carriage an twa,
And servants that bustled and waled him a place
Whare the stoor o' the strae wadnae blaw in his face;
Whare the spire o' the kirk through the elms micht be seen,
And a glint o' the manse through the holly sae green.
And they gied him a taste o' the water sae clear,
And they fed him wi' coal frae a heugh that was near.
But the minister's helpers wi' wonder grew pale,
While the thrasher was bound wi' strong whangs to his flail.
“For hoo can he work in sic bonds?” was their plea.
“Hoo work?” said his servants, “Hae patience and see;
And noo he's at wark—Fie! mair hauns let us hae!
'Twill take a gude dozen to redd him o' strae;
Gae! get us mair pocks ere the grain rin to waste,”
And the minister's sel' for mair pocks gaed in haste.
Till the thrasher appeared in his carriage an twa,
And servants that bustled and waled him a place
Whare the stoor o' the strae wadnae blaw in his face;
Whare the spire o' the kirk through the elms micht be seen,
And a glint o' the manse through the holly sae green.
And they gied him a taste o' the water sae clear,
And they fed him wi' coal frae a heugh that was near.
31
While the thrasher was bound wi' strong whangs to his flail.
“For hoo can he work in sic bonds?” was their plea.
“Hoo work?” said his servants, “Hae patience and see;
And noo he's at wark—Fie! mair hauns let us hae!
'Twill take a gude dozen to redd him o' strae;
Gae! get us mair pocks ere the grain rin to waste,”
And the minister's sel' for mair pocks gaed in haste.
And weel micht the minister marvel, I ween,
For never before had sic thrashing been seen;
And weel micht he say, “Is it glamour or no?”
But these were his helpers that ran to an' fro;
And there was the lassie, and yonder the man,
She rosy wi' toil, and he pechin' an' wan',
And there swell'd the grain heaps, and there rose the strae.
The thrasher, unwearied, there rattled away,
And he seem'd to grow stronger the more work was done;
The breath of his nostrils oft darkening the sun,
And, o'er the Turnlaw while the sun yet was high,
The minister saw that the thrashin' was bye.
For never before had sic thrashing been seen;
And weel micht he say, “Is it glamour or no?”
But these were his helpers that ran to an' fro;
And there was the lassie, and yonder the man,
She rosy wi' toil, and he pechin' an' wan',
And there swell'd the grain heaps, and there rose the strae.
The thrasher, unwearied, there rattled away,
And he seem'd to grow stronger the more work was done;
The breath of his nostrils oft darkening the sun,
32
The minister saw that the thrashin' was bye.
At rest stood the thrasher: his bonds were unbound;
And the still wondering helpers were gather'd around;
The coal was removed that remain'd in his maw—
It was hot as a furnace the pale helpers saw;
But the fumes of the brunstone hot stifling arose,
Till the helpers were fain to run holding the nose.
And, lo! from the thrasher an ear-cracking roar
Made the hazel leaves quiver the valley all o'er;
And, see, on the Dechmont the kine, startled, run,
As the breath o' the thrasher shuts out sky and sun.
And the still wondering helpers were gather'd around;
The coal was removed that remain'd in his maw—
It was hot as a furnace the pale helpers saw;
But the fumes of the brunstone hot stifling arose,
Till the helpers were fain to run holding the nose.
And, lo! from the thrasher an ear-cracking roar
Made the hazel leaves quiver the valley all o'er;
And, see, on the Dechmont the kine, startled, run,
As the breath o' the thrasher shuts out sky and sun.
Deep awe seized the helpers—their thoughts one might tell—
Ane said 'tis the fumes o' the ill place itsel';
And ane said the corn wad tak' fire in the kiln,
And the barley wad bleeze in the pat and the still.
“And the fire-fate sae fell
O' Gommorah itsel'
Micht fa' on the parish.” But ae canny dame
Declared 'twas the minister's sel' was to blame;
“And if brunstone and fire's to be scattered ava,”
Quoth she, “on the minister's sel' it maun fa',
For (wi' rev'rence be't spoken) he's sinned for us a'.”
But the minister's man or the minister's maid
Brang word to the manse o' what a' body said,
And the minister smiled, “Silly bodies,” quoth he,
“For the thresher's nae mair o' a demon than me.”
Ane said 'tis the fumes o' the ill place itsel';
And ane said the corn wad tak' fire in the kiln,
And the barley wad bleeze in the pat and the still.
“And the fire-fate sae fell
O' Gommorah itsel'
Micht fa' on the parish.” But ae canny dame
Declared 'twas the minister's sel' was to blame;
33
Quoth she, “on the minister's sel' it maun fa',
For (wi' rev'rence be't spoken) he's sinned for us a'.”
But the minister's man or the minister's maid
Brang word to the manse o' what a' body said,
And the minister smiled, “Silly bodies,” quoth he,
“For the thresher's nae mair o' a demon than me.”
But the miller himsel', when the corn was sent in,
“We'll try a bit bag o't,” quoth he, “to begin;”
But the sample was canny as canny could be;
“I think we may venture the rest o't,” quoth he.
“We'll try a bit bag o't,” quoth he, “to begin;”
But the sample was canny as canny could be;
“I think we may venture the rest o't,” quoth he.
Sae the meal was brang hame and the minister's man
To ca' on the helpers wi' preein's began;
And the minister said, “Let them prov't in the pat,
For the proof o' the puddin's the preein', I wat;”
And a' body tastit and a' body saw
That the thrasher was naething uncanny ava.
And ever sinsyne when the glebe is in grain,
The minister sends for the thrasher again.
To ca' on the helpers wi' preein's began;
And the minister said, “Let them prov't in the pat,
For the proof o' the puddin's the preein', I wat;”
And a' body tastit and a' body saw
That the thrasher was naething uncanny ava.
And ever sinsyne when the glebe is in grain,
The minister sends for the thrasher again.
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