Willie Winkie and Other Songs and Poems By William Miller: Edited, with an Introduction by Robert Ford |
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An Epistle to William Miller
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 | Willie Winkie and Other Songs and Poems |  |
71
An Epistle to William Miller
By Hugh Macdonald.
Dear Sir,
Or shall I ca' you, frien'?
I scrimply daur, sae short we've been
Acquaint wi' ither; yet, I ween
There's unco few
Upon my list, I'd be mair keen
To ha'e than you.
Or shall I ca' you, frien'?
I scrimply daur, sae short we've been
Acquaint wi' ither; yet, I ween
There's unco few
Upon my list, I'd be mair keen
To ha'e than you.
Lang ere I'd seen your pensive face,
Or marked your modest winning grace,
Deep in my heart ye had a place,
For lang I'd lo'ed
The witchin' strains ye weel can trace
Wi' love imbued.
Or marked your modest winning grace,
Deep in my heart ye had a place,
For lang I'd lo'ed
The witchin' strains ye weel can trace
Wi' love imbued.
They bring me glints o' happy years,
Ere hope's bright rainbow drapt in tears,
Or worldly troubles, toils, and fears
Had worn away
The freshness that the spirit wears
In life's young day.
Ere hope's bright rainbow drapt in tears,
Or worldly troubles, toils, and fears
Had worn away
The freshness that the spirit wears
In life's young day.
72
Ilk couthie word, ilk hamely phrase,
My mither spak' in early days,
I find inwoven through thy lays
Wi' sic an airt,
That ilka nervelet prinklin' plays,
And thrills the heart.
My mither spak' in early days,
I find inwoven through thy lays
Wi' sic an airt,
That ilka nervelet prinklin' plays,
And thrills the heart.
Baith hereabouts and far awa',
Thy strains are heard in cot and ha',
Round ingle sides where bairnies sma'
Rejoice the e'e,
And heart to heart they kindly draw
Wi' winning glee.
Thy strains are heard in cot and ha',
Round ingle sides where bairnies sma'
Rejoice the e'e,
And heart to heart they kindly draw
Wi' winning glee.
Full monie a Scottish mither learns
Thy cannie words, to soothe the bairns,
To win the waukrife to the arms
O' downie sleep—
Wee fractious brats, ower whom she yearns
Wi' passion deep.
Thy cannie words, to soothe the bairns,
To win the waukrife to the arms
O' downie sleep—
Wee fractious brats, ower whom she yearns
Wi' passion deep.
Shakespeare the soul's far depths may move,
Milton through realms of fancy rove,
Burns chaunt the burning strains of love
Wi' matchless skill,
'Tis thine alane, a' bards above,
Wee hearts to thrill.
Milton through realms of fancy rove,
Burns chaunt the burning strains of love
Wi' matchless skill,
'Tis thine alane, a' bards above,
Wee hearts to thrill.
73
Ye mauna think I mean to flatter,
They ne'er think sae wha ken me better;
I'm apter far to fling cauld water
On meteor names,
Than oily draps o' praise to scatter
On sterling flames.
They ne'er think sae wha ken me better;
I'm apter far to fling cauld water
On meteor names,
Than oily draps o' praise to scatter
On sterling flames.
But leavin' that flee on the wa',
I hope ye'se no forget the ca'
Ye promised last time that I saw
Your frien' and you;
Come sune, for wood and field are a'
Busk't fair e-noo.
I hope ye'se no forget the ca'
Ye promised last time that I saw
Your frien' and you;
Come sune, for wood and field are a'
Busk't fair e-noo.
The wild rose wears her sweetest blush,
Her tassels fair ilk broomy bush,
Wi' bated voice wee burnies gush
Frae den to den,
While streams of joy the merry thrush
Pours o'er each glen.
Her tassels fair ilk broomy bush,
Wi' bated voice wee burnies gush
Frae den to den,
While streams of joy the merry thrush
Pours o'er each glen.
Cleek't haund in haund, a bick'rin' train
O' bairnies haunt ilk leafy lane,
Linkin' the dandelion chain
Round necks o' snaw,
Or plaitin' on the rashy plain
Green caps fu' braw.
O' bairnies haunt ilk leafy lane,
Linkin' the dandelion chain
Round necks o' snaw,
Or plaitin' on the rashy plain
Green caps fu' braw.
74
Ye'se see Gleniffer's fir-crowned brae,
Auld Stanley Castle's ruins grey,
Whaur Paisley's minstrel wont to stray
When fell the dew,
Enraptured weaving some sweet lay
To nature true.
Auld Stanley Castle's ruins grey,
Whaur Paisley's minstrel wont to stray
When fell the dew,
Enraptured weaving some sweet lay
To nature true.
Unblest wi' Fortune's sunny smile,
His was a life of care and toil;
Yet, happy hours were his the while;
At closing day
He left the busy town's turmoil,
Alane to stray.
His was a life of care and toil;
Yet, happy hours were his the while;
At closing day
He left the busy town's turmoil,
Alane to stray.
Yet though unblest wi' Fortune's shower,
His was in truth a nobler dower—
A heart of love, a soul of power,
That deeper joy
Could win from wilding bird or flower
Than wealth could buy.
His was in truth a nobler dower—
A heart of love, a soul of power,
That deeper joy
Could win from wilding bird or flower
Than wealth could buy.
Sound sleeps he now 'neath death's cauld wing;
But lang as woodland birds shall sing,
Or wild birds rise to welcome Spring
'Side gushing rills,
His mem'ry shall a halo fling
Around these hills.
But lang as woodland birds shall sing,
Or wild birds rise to welcome Spring
'Side gushing rills,
His mem'ry shall a halo fling
Around these hills.
75
Syne we'se gae visit Ellerslie,
Whaur stands the famous Wallace tree,
In which our hero shunned the e'e
Of ruthless foes,
Nae Scottish heart but warms to see
Its hallowed boughs.
Whaur stands the famous Wallace tree,
In which our hero shunned the e'e
Of ruthless foes,
Nae Scottish heart but warms to see
Its hallowed boughs.
Then there's yon auld grim Abbey Kirk,
Biggit langsyne in ages mirk,
When man was led aye like a stirk,
In priestly tethers,
Wi' nocht to do but fecht and work,
And worship blethers.
Biggit langsyne in ages mirk,
When man was led aye like a stirk,
In priestly tethers,
Wi' nocht to do but fecht and work,
And worship blethers.
Ay, lad, thae were the guid auld times!
'Bout which ilk priest and lordling rhymes,
When 'twas accountit warst o' crimes,
Akin to treason,
For a' save priests, to seek the climes
Of truth and reason.
'Bout which ilk priest and lordling rhymes,
When 'twas accountit warst o' crimes,
Akin to treason,
For a' save priests, to seek the climes
Of truth and reason.
Dark ages, haply passed away,
We're thankfu' for a better day,
When Knowledge sheds her glad'ning ray
O'er poortith's vale,
And mental clouds are passing aye
On reason's gale.
We're thankfu' for a better day,
When Knowledge sheds her glad'ning ray
O'er poortith's vale,
And mental clouds are passing aye
On reason's gale.
76
Syne when o' sichts ye've had your fill,
We'se no cast oot about a gill,
Or aiblins twa three glass o' yill,
Or whisky toddy,
Mere poetry ye ken but ill
Supports the body.
We'se no cast oot about a gill,
Or aiblins twa three glass o' yill,
Or whisky toddy,
Mere poetry ye ken but ill
Supports the body.
Twa days before ye come ye'll min'
To send me word when ye design
To scour alang the speedy line
Wi' rattlin' hurry,
Name to a point the nick o' time,
And I'll wait for ye.
To send me word when ye design
To scour alang the speedy line
Wi' rattlin' hurry,
Name to a point the nick o' time,
And I'll wait for ye.
Now, sir, I'll close my ramblin' letter,
Lang may ye baulk misfortune's fetter,
And ilka warstle get the better
Of warldly skaith;
And lang, lang may ye be the debtor
Of auld King Death.
Lang may ye baulk misfortune's fetter,
And ilka warstle get the better
Of warldly skaith;
And lang, lang may ye be the debtor
Of auld King Death.
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