The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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Superstition and Grace.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Superstition and Grace.
There was an auld carle wonn'd under yon shaw,His cheek was the clay, and his hair was the snaw;
His brow was as glazed as the winter night,
But mingled with lines of immortal light;
And forth from his livid lips there flew
A flame of a lurid murky hue.
But there was a mystery him within,
That roused up the twangs and terrors of sin;
And there was a gleide in that auld carle's ee,
That the saint and the sinner baith trembled to see.
But, oh! when the moor gat her coverlet gray;
When the gloaming had flaughted the night and the day;
When the craws had flown to the greenwood shaw,
And the kid blett over the Lammer Law;
When the dew had laid the valley asteep,
And the gowan had faul't her buds to sleep;
When naething was heard but the merlin's maen,
Oh, then, that gyre carle was never his lane.
A bonnie wee baby, sae meek and mild,
Then walk'd with him in the dowie wild;
But, oh! nae pen that ever grew
Could describe that baby's heavenly hue:
Yet all the barmings of sturt and strife,
And weary wailings of mortal life,
Would soon have been hush'd to endless peace
At ae blink of that baby's face.
Her brow sae fair, and her e'e sae meek,
And the pale rose bloom upon her cheek;
Her locks, and the bend of her sweet e'e bree,
And her smile, might have waken'd the dead to see.
Her snood, befringed wi' many a gem,
Was stown frae the rainbow's brightest hem;
And her rail, mair white than the snawy drift,
Was never woven aneath the lift;
It threw sic a light on the hill and the gair,
That it show'd the wild deer to her lair;
And the brown bird of the moorland fell
Upraised his head from the heather bell,
For he thought that his dawning of love and mirth,
Instead of the heaven was springing from earth;
And the fairies waken'd frae their beds of dew,
And they sang a hymn, and that hymn was new.
Oh, ladies, list! for never again
Shall you hear sic a wild, unearthly strain:
For they sang the night breeze in a swoon,
And they sang the gowd locks frae the moon;
They sang the redbreast frae the wood,
And the laverock out o' the marled cloud,
The capperkayle frae the bosky brae,
And the seraphs down frae the milky way;
And some wee feres of bloodless birth
Came out o' the worm-holes o' the earth,
And swoof'd sae lightly round the lea,
That they wadna kythe to mortal e'e;
While the eldritch sang, it rang sae shrill,
That the waesome tod yool'd on the hill:
Oh, ladies, list! for the choral band
Thus hymn'd the song of Fairy Land:
Song of the Fairies.
Sing, sing!
How shall we sing
Round the babe of the spirits' king?
How shall we sing our last adieu,
Baby of life, when we sing to you?
Now the little night-burdie may cheip i' the wa',
The plover may whew, and the cock may craw;
For the bairny's sleep is sweet and sure,
And the maiden's rest is blest and pure,
Through all the links of the Lammer Muir.
Sin our bonnie baby was sent frae heaven,
She comes o'ernight wi' the dew of even;
And when the day-sky bursts frae the main,
She swaws wi' the dew to heaven again:
But the light shall dawn, and the howlet flee,
The dead shall quake, when the day shall be,
That she shall smile in the gladsome noon,
And sleep, and sleep, in the light of the moon.
Then shall our hallelues wake anew
With harp, and viol, and ayril true.
But, well-a-day!
How shall we say
Our earthly adieu ere we pass away?
Ring! Ring!
Dance and sing,
And on the green broom your garlands hing;
Hallow the hopes of this ray of grace,
For sweet is the smile of our baby's face;
And every ghaist of geysand hue
Has melted away in the air she drew.
The kelpy may dern, in drear and dool,
Deep in the howe of his eiry pool;
Gil-Moules frae hint the hallan may flee
Through by the threshold and through by the key,
And the mermaid moote in the saffron sea:
But we are left in the greenwood glen,
Because we love the children of men,
Sweetly to sing, and never to rue,
Till now that we hymn our last adieu;
Baby of life, we sing it to you!
How shall we sing
Round the babe of the spirits' king?
How shall we sing our last adieu,
Baby of life, when we sing to you?
Now the little night-burdie may cheip i' the wa',
The plover may whew, and the cock may craw;
For the bairny's sleep is sweet and sure,
And the maiden's rest is blest and pure,
Through all the links of the Lammer Muir.
Sin our bonnie baby was sent frae heaven,
She comes o'ernight wi' the dew of even;
And when the day-sky bursts frae the main,
She swaws wi' the dew to heaven again:
But the light shall dawn, and the howlet flee,
The dead shall quake, when the day shall be,
That she shall smile in the gladsome noon,
And sleep, and sleep, in the light of the moon.
Then shall our hallelues wake anew
With harp, and viol, and ayril true.
375
How shall we say
Our earthly adieu ere we pass away?
Ring! Ring!
Dance and sing,
And on the green broom your garlands hing;
Hallow the hopes of this ray of grace,
For sweet is the smile of our baby's face;
And every ghaist of geysand hue
Has melted away in the air she drew.
The kelpy may dern, in drear and dool,
Deep in the howe of his eiry pool;
Gil-Moules frae hint the hallan may flee
Through by the threshold and through by the key,
And the mermaid moote in the saffron sea:
But we are left in the greenwood glen,
Because we love the children of men,
Sweetly to sing, and never to rue,
Till now that we hymn our last adieu;
Baby of life, we sing it to you!
Sing, sing!
How shall we sing
Round the babe of the spirits' king?
Hither the breezes of Elfland bring,
Then, fairies, away—away on the wing!
We now maun flit to a land of bliss—
To a land of holy silentness;
To a land where the night-wind never blew,
But thy fair spring shall ever be new.
When the moon shall wake, nae mair to wane,
And the cloud and the rainbow baith are gane,
In bowers aboon the break o' the day,
We'll sing to our baby for ever and aye.
How shall we sing
Round the babe of the spirits' king?
Hither the breezes of Elfland bring,
Then, fairies, away—away on the wing!
We now maun flit to a land of bliss—
To a land of holy silentness;
To a land where the night-wind never blew,
But thy fair spring shall ever be new.
When the moon shall wake, nae mair to wane,
And the cloud and the rainbow baith are gane,
In bowers aboon the break o' the day,
We'll sing to our baby for ever and aye.
Then the carle beheld them swoof alang,
And heard the words of their farewell sang;
They seem'd to ling asklent the wind,
And left a pathway of light behind;
But he heard them singing as they flew—
“Baby of life, adieu! adieu!
Baby of grace, we sing to you!”
Then the carle he kneel'd to that seraph young,
And heard the words of their farewell sang;
They seem'd to ling asklent the wind,
And left a pathway of light behind;
But he heard them singing as they flew—
“Baby of life, adieu! adieu!
Baby of grace, we sing to you!”
And named her with a tremulous tongue;
And the light of God shone on his face,
As he look'd to heaven and named her Grace;
And he barr'd the day of sorrow and pain
Ever to thrall the world again;
Then he clasp'd his hands, and wept full sore,
When he bade her adieu for evermore.
Oh! never was baby's smile so meek
When she felt the tear drop on her cheek;
And never was baby's look so wae
When she saw the stern auld carle gae;
But a' his e'eless and elfin train,
And a' his ghaists and gyes are gane:
Then gleids that gleam'd in the darksome shaw,
And his fairies had flown the last of a'.
Then the poor auld carle was blythe to flee
Away frae the queen isle of the sea,
And never mair seeks the walks of men,
Unless in the disk of the gloaming glen.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |