 | The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey |  |
155
TO MY BIRDIE.
Here's you an' me, Birdie! here's only you an' me!
An' there you sit, you humdrum fowl,
Sae mute an' mopish as an owl—
Sour companie!
An' there you sit, you humdrum fowl,
Sae mute an' mopish as an owl—
Sour companie!
Sing me a little sang, Birdie! lilt up a little lay!
When folks are here, fu' fain are ye
To stun them with yere minstrelsie
The lee-lang day;
When folks are here, fu' fain are ye
To stun them with yere minstrelsie
The lee-lang day;
An' now we're only twa, Birdie! an' now we're only twa;
'Twere sure but kind an' cozie, Birdie!
To charm, wi' yere wee hurdy-gurdie,
Dull care awa'.
'Twere sure but kind an' cozie, Birdie!
To charm, wi' yere wee hurdy-gurdie,
Dull care awa'.
Ye ken, when folks are paired, Birdie! ye ken, when folks are paired,
Life's fair, an' foul, and freakish weather,
An' light an' lumbrin' loads, thegither
Maun a' be shared;
Life's fair, an' foul, and freakish weather,
An' light an' lumbrin' loads, thegither
Maun a' be shared;
An' shared wi' lovin' hearts, Birdie! wi' lovin' hearts an' free;
Fu' fashious loads may weel be borne,
An' roughest roads to velvet turn,
Trod cheerfully.
Fu' fashious loads may weel be borne,
An' roughest roads to velvet turn,
Trod cheerfully.
156
We've a' our cares an' crosses, Birdie! We've a'our cares an's crosses;
But then to sulk an' sit sae glum—
Hout, tout!—what guid o' that can come
To mend ane's losses?
But then to sulk an' sit sae glum—
Hout, tout!—what guid o' that can come
To mend ane's losses?
Ye're clipt in wiry fence, Birdie! ye're clipt in wiry fence;
An' aiblins I, gin I mote gang
Upo' a wish, wad be or lang
Wi' frien's far hence:
An' aiblins I, gin I mote gang
Upo' a wish, wad be or lang
Wi' frien's far hence:
But what's a wish, ye ken, Birdie! but what's a wish, ye ken?
Nae cantrip naig, like hers of Fife,
Wha darnit wi' the auld weird wife,
Flood, fell, an' fen.
Nae cantrip naig, like hers of Fife,
Wha darnit wi' the auld weird wife,
Flood, fell, an' fen.
'Tis true, ye're furnished fair, Birdie! 'tis true, ye're furnished fair,
Wi' a braw pair o' bonnie wings,
Wad lift ye whar yon laverock sings
High up i' th' air;
Wi' a braw pair o' bonnie wings,
Wad lift ye whar yon laverock sings
High up i' th' air;
But then that wire's sae strang, Birdie! but then that wire's sae strang!
An' I mysel', sae seemin' free,
Nae wings have I to waften me
Whar fain I'd gang.
An' I mysel', sae seemin' free,
Nae wings have I to waften me
Whar fain I'd gang.
An' say we'd baith our wills, Birdie! we'd each our wilfu' way:
Whar laverocks hover, falcons fly;
An' snares an' pitfa's aften lie
Whar wishes stray.
Whar laverocks hover, falcons fly;
An' snares an' pitfa's aften lie
Whar wishes stray.
157
An' ae thing weel I wot, Birdie! an' ae thing weel I wot—
There's Ane abune the highest sphere,
Wha cares for a' His creatures here,
Marks every lot:
There's Ane abune the highest sphere,
Wha cares for a' His creatures here,
Marks every lot:
Wha guards the crownèd king, Birdie! wha guards the crownèd king,
An' taketh heed for sic as me—
Sae little worth—an' e'en for thee,
Puir witless thing!
An' taketh heed for sic as me—
Sae little worth—an' e'en for thee,
Puir witless thing!
Sae now, let's baith cheer up, Birdie! an' sin' we're only twa—
Aff han'—let's ilk ane do our best,
To ding that crabbit, cankered pest,
Dull care awa'!
Aff han'—let's ilk ane do our best,
To ding that crabbit, cankered pest,
Dull care awa'!
| The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey | |