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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Where am I gaun?
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Where am I gaun?
Where am I gaun?—I darena tell;
Alas! I hardly ken mysel':
There's something burning in my brain,
That leads me out this gate my lane.
It's no to be where I hae been,
It's no to see wha I hae seen;
Ah no! 'tis to the cauld kirkyard,
To greet aboon the lonely sward.
Alas! I hardly ken mysel':
There's something burning in my brain,
That leads me out this gate my lane.
It's no to be where I hae been,
It's no to see wha I hae seen;
Ah no! 'tis to the cauld kirkyard,
To greet aboon the lonely sward.
Oh, my Matilda! when with pain,
I left thy side to cross the main,
I left all dearest to my life,
A new made mother and a wife.
I see thee still—thou sobb'd and wept
Above our baby as he slept:
That look of sorrow, and that tear,
My very soul, till death, will sear.
I left thy side to cross the main,
I left all dearest to my life,
A new made mother and a wife.
I see thee still—thou sobb'd and wept
Above our baby as he slept:
That look of sorrow, and that tear,
My very soul, till death, will sear.
I kiss'd thee—left thee—where art thou?
I have no wife nor baby now;
I look around me in despair,
And then to heaven, for they are there.
I did not see my baby die;
I did not close his mother's eye;
Nor hear a blessing from her tongue,
When the last sigh upon it hung.
I have no wife nor baby now;
I look around me in despair,
And then to heaven, for they are there.
I did not see my baby die;
I did not close his mother's eye;
Nor hear a blessing from her tongue,
When the last sigh upon it hung.
When death had reft her baby sweet,
She wound him in his winding sheet,
An' followed to his grave, resigned,
But ah! she could not stay behind.
Where am I gaun? I know it now;
To a dear grave—aye, there are two;
A very low and little one
Lies 'twixt the other and the sun.
She wound him in his winding sheet,
An' followed to his grave, resigned,
But ah! she could not stay behind.
Where am I gaun? I know it now;
To a dear grave—aye, there are two;
A very low and little one
Lies 'twixt the other and the sun.
There I must wend, though all alone;
An inward anguish drags me on,
O'er these new graves, beneath the yew,
My tears to mingle with the dew.
For all that to my soul endear'd,
I lov'd, I cherish'd, and rever'd,
Lie there within a lowly shrine—
Can there be earthly woe like mine?
An inward anguish drags me on,
O'er these new graves, beneath the yew,
My tears to mingle with the dew.
For all that to my soul endear'd,
I lov'd, I cherish'd, and rever'd,
Lie there within a lowly shrine—
Can there be earthly woe like mine?
The sweetest bud that ever grew
Has faded like the morning dew;
The parent stem that gave it birth,
Has sunk into her native earth.
My wife—my baby—Oh how sweet!
But there's a home where we shall meet;
Beyond yon blue and diamond dome,
We'll find an everlasting home.
Has faded like the morning dew;
The parent stem that gave it birth,
Has sunk into her native earth.
My wife—my baby—Oh how sweet!
But there's a home where we shall meet;
Beyond yon blue and diamond dome,
We'll find an everlasting home.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |