 | Poems and Essays of a Miscellaneous Character on Subjects of General Interest |  |
230
ESSAYS
THE TWO CONQUERORS;
OR THE CONQUESTS OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT AND THE MISSION OF PAUL AND SILAS TO MACEDONIA.
'Twas ancient Macedon that gave to time
The hero, world-renown'd—his sire sublime
Olympian Jove: so said the royal dame
Whose breast maternal nursed the child of fame.
All-conquering conqueror—too small the world
For thine ambition—thrones and sceptres hurled
To dust; earth saw her dynasties o'erthrown,
That thou might'st reign unrivall'd and alone!
Lo, in the van, to fight, command, and lead,
Earth's matchless rider on his matchless steed,
From Greece to Ind, still victory flies before,
Till Alexander reigns from shore to shore!
The scene is changed, the victor quits the field,
Fierce joys, wild pleasures, all that earth can yield,
Are his nude nymphs—his bloody laurels twine
With myrtle wreaths. On floods of sparkling wine
Sits Death triumphant, plucks the victor's crown
From his cold brow, and binds it on his own.
The hero, world-renown'd—his sire sublime
Olympian Jove: so said the royal dame
Whose breast maternal nursed the child of fame.
All-conquering conqueror—too small the world
For thine ambition—thrones and sceptres hurled
To dust; earth saw her dynasties o'erthrown,
That thou might'st reign unrivall'd and alone!
Lo, in the van, to fight, command, and lead,
Earth's matchless rider on his matchless steed,
From Greece to Ind, still victory flies before,
Till Alexander reigns from shore to shore!
The scene is changed, the victor quits the field,
Fierce joys, wild pleasures, all that earth can yield,
Are his nude nymphs—his bloody laurels twine
With myrtle wreaths. On floods of sparkling wine
Sits Death triumphant, plucks the victor's crown
From his cold brow, and binds it on his own.
Long ages pass—'tis Macedonia still.
Not now the trump of war from hill to hill
Awakes the echoes of each rock and cave
With calls to victory or a warrior's grave.
Not now the trump of war from hill to hill
Awakes the echoes of each rock and cave
With calls to victory or a warrior's grave.
231
Comes one from Philippi: “What hast thou seen?”
“Two lonely men of lowly gait and mien.”
'Tis Paul and Silas; now shall Macedon
Receive a conqueror mightier than her own—
Behold the Banner of the Cross unfurled,
And waved triumphant o'er a conquered world!
“Two lonely men of lowly gait and mien.”
'Tis Paul and Silas; now shall Macedon
Receive a conqueror mightier than her own—
Behold the Banner of the Cross unfurled,
And waved triumphant o'er a conquered world!
True soldiers of the cross! how glorious far
Your mighty Leader! Glorious far the war
He bids you wage, strong in His strength and might!
Celestial armour guards you in the fight;
For not with flesh, and blood, and things of earth,
But powers and spirits of infernal birth
Ye wrestle—holding fast the shield of faith
To quench the fiery darts of sin and death.
Wielded by you, how flashed the Spirit's sword!
The searching lightnings of the eternal Word
Startled and woke to life a slumbering world,
And from their thrones the powers of darkness hurled!
Your mighty Leader! Glorious far the war
He bids you wage, strong in His strength and might!
Celestial armour guards you in the fight;
For not with flesh, and blood, and things of earth,
But powers and spirits of infernal birth
Ye wrestle—holding fast the shield of faith
To quench the fiery darts of sin and death.
Wielded by you, how flashed the Spirit's sword!
The searching lightnings of the eternal Word
Startled and woke to life a slumbering world,
And from their thrones the powers of darkness hurled!
O more than conquerors! hark the loud acclaim
Earth sends to heaven, and heaven returns the same:
“Glory to God on high, good-will to men,
Peace, peace on earth, Amen, yea, and Amen!”
Earth sends to heaven, and heaven returns the same:
“Glory to God on high, good-will to men,
Peace, peace on earth, Amen, yea, and Amen!”
244
SCOTIA: A VISION.
Midnight's solemn peal had rung;My drowsy spirit listless hung
Between the certain and unreal,
When visioned forms and shapes ideal
Come floating from the dreamy cells
Where vagrant fancy ever dwells.
And thus, half-conscious, in my ear
A wailing voice I seemed to hear;
Its tones were thrilling, sad, and wild,
Like mother's anguish o'er her child.
Methought my casement opened wide,
A female form, that seemed to glide
On air, within my chamber stood.
I knew her by the plaid and snood
That bound her streaming, golden hair,
With rainbow hues all checker'd fair.
Her flowing robe around her fell;
Entranced I lay, as if a spell
Had bound me. On her mournful face
Love, sorrow, majesty, and grace
Were blended: she the silence broke;
My heart leaped up, 'twas Scotia spoke.
“Where shall I hide my world-wide shame?”
She cried; “Ye jewels of my fame,
245
Come forth and bless your Scotia's sight—
Come dressed in Virtue's spotless charms,
To honour, grace, and bless the arms
Of wedded love. The wound is deep
That pains my heart; I mourn and weep
This sad reproach above all others,
My nameless babes and unwed mothers.
This plague-sore eats away my life;
Stand up and answer, mother, wife—
Have you by teaching, watching, prayer,
By fair example, ceaseless care,
Trained up your child that she should go
In Virtue's path—say, is it so?
Let conscience speak, the roll of time
Is black with shame and red with crime.”
She paused, my bosom heaved and thrilled.
When next she spoke, her eyes were filled
With burning tears of grief and shame.
“Lost is the prestige of my name;
My daughters, modest, pure, and good—
What hand shall save from ruin's flood
The fair frail barks it soon would whelm?
Mothers, good mothers, at the helm!”
She ceased, she vanished, and my room
Seemed wrapt in sadder, deeper gloom.
257
A TRUE STORY.
TO YOUNG ABSTAINERS.
Listen, dear ones, to my story,
True as sad, and sad as true;
'Tis a tale to make you sorry—
Show you what vile drink can do.
True as sad, and sad as true;
'Tis a tale to make you sorry—
Show you what vile drink can do.
'Twas the Sabbath. From my casement
Glanced mine eye along the road;
Scene I saw of dark debasement—
Blush, Oh earth! forgive, Oh God!
Glanced mine eye along the road;
Scene I saw of dark debasement—
Blush, Oh earth! forgive, Oh God!
Came a pair of drunkards hoary,
Wife and mother named they one:
Husband he—ah! shameful story—
Father to that sorrowing son;
Wife and mother named they one:
Husband he—ah! shameful story—
Father to that sorrowing son;
Who, when long from home they tarried,
Sought and found them, helpless set
'Gainst the wall, by turns half carried;
Who that saw will e'er forget?
Sought and found them, helpless set
'Gainst the wall, by turns half carried;
Who that saw will e'er forget?
258
While he props the helpless mother,
Down the father prostrate falls;
Stoop'd to him, his name the other
Loud in babbling frenzy calls.
Down the father prostrate falls;
Stoop'd to him, his name the other
Loud in babbling frenzy calls.
Folks from out the doors came peeping;
Curious children gathered round;
Shame and grief subdued him: weeping,
Down he sat upon the ground.
Curious children gathered round;
Shame and grief subdued him: weeping,
Down he sat upon the ground.
Oh those tears! I pray that never
May I see the like again;
Female lips began to quiver,
Children sad and still remain.
May I see the like again;
Female lips began to quiver,
Children sad and still remain.
One steps forth from the beholders—
Good Samaritan is he—
“Friend,” he said, and touched his shoulder,
“Help and pity take from me.”
Good Samaritan is he—
“Friend,” he said, and touched his shoulder,
“Help and pity take from me.”
“Thanks!” he said, and raised his mother,
All insensate, on his arm;
Bore his unknown friend the other,
Shelter'd both from shame and harm.
All insensate, on his arm;
Bore his unknown friend the other,
Shelter'd both from shame and harm.
Children, are your hearts not burning
With a grateful, fervent flame,
Ye who ne'er with tears of mourning
Watched and wept a parent's shame?
With a grateful, fervent flame,
Ye who ne'er with tears of mourning
Watched and wept a parent's shame?
273
A PARODY ON “THE WAYSIDE WELL,”
AN EXQUISITE LITTLE POEM IN DICKENS' “HOUSEHOLD WORDS.”
Hail to thee, the Workman's Friend,
We wreathe thy brow with roses!
While thy useful page we tend,
Weary heart reposes.
We wreathe thy brow with roses!
While thy useful page we tend,
Weary heart reposes.
Welcome! flowers all fresh and sweet
Cull'st thou for the masses;
Life's worn traveller will thee greet,
Reading as he passes.
Cull'st thou for the masses;
Life's worn traveller will thee greet,
Reading as he passes.
Treads thy weekly round the wise;
Comes the workman to thee,
Free as gent's or lords who rise
From gilded page to sue thee.
Comes the workman to thee,
Free as gent's or lords who rise
From gilded page to sue thee.
Thou from Labour's sons dost earn
Many a heart-felt blessing;
And receiv'st from them in turn
Welcome and caressing.
Many a heart-felt blessing;
And receiv'st from them in turn
Welcome and caressing.
274
Fair thy rising fame ascends,
Like Latona's daughter,
Till the full-orb'd radiance lends
Light to land and water.
Like Latona's daughter,
Till the full-orb'd radiance lends
Light to land and water.
When thou scannest written page,
Glancing o'er thy table,
Light shall fall thy censure's rage,
Soft on wights unable.
Glancing o'er thy table,
Light shall fall thy censure's rage,
Soft on wights unable.
Matrons love thy household lore;
Public seems to pet thee;
Critic, with his caustic store,
Seeketh not to fret thee.
Public seems to pet thee;
Critic, with his caustic store,
Seeketh not to fret thee.
Cool, and free from party strife,
Friend of progress steady—
O'er thy editorial life
Watcheth dame and lady.
Friend of progress steady—
O'er thy editorial life
Watcheth dame and lady.
To thy page the star of love,
Maiden fair doth bend her;
Mothers' minds thy fancies move—
Earnest, true, and tender.
Maiden fair doth bend her;
Mothers' minds thy fancies move—
Earnest, true, and tender.
Bounteous spirit! thou hast won
Just decreed ovation;
Thine the page to admit and own
Worth in humblest station.
Just decreed ovation;
Thine the page to admit and own
Worth in humblest station.
275
Ne'er shall Envy's blighting fog—
Stricture made in malice—
Nought thy patriot efforts clog—
Success brims the chalice!
Stricture made in malice—
Nought thy patriot efforts clog—
Success brims the chalice!
Heaven be in thy inmost ken,
Thou that nobly darest
To assert that men are men
When the garb is barest!
Thou that nobly darest
To assert that men are men
When the garb is barest!
279
LYRICS OF DRINK.
“Whatever step I take, and into whatever direction I may strike, the
drink-demon starts up before me and blocks my way.”—M. Hill.
I turned me to the house of prayer,
Nor thought to meet the demon there—
But as I musing onward trod,
I met him staggering on the road,
In semblance of some beastly creatures,
With blood-shot eyes and bloated features,
Who revel held the live-long night,
Till now the Sabbath sun shone bright.
Nor thought to meet the demon there—
But as I musing onward trod,
I met him staggering on the road,
In semblance of some beastly creatures,
With blood-shot eyes and bloated features,
Who revel held the live-long night,
Till now the Sabbath sun shone bright.
I stood beside an open grave;
The demon here no power can have.
The coffin lowered, the grave filled up,
The mourners crave a friendly cup
Their griefs to soothe and spirits cheer.
Oh! draw the veil and drop the tear
O'er scenes on which the demon smiles,
When they have fallen by his wiles.
The demon here no power can have.
The coffin lowered, the grave filled up,
The mourners crave a friendly cup
Their griefs to soothe and spirits cheer.
Oh! draw the veil and drop the tear
O'er scenes on which the demon smiles,
When they have fallen by his wiles.
I turned me to the police cells—
The demon's voice there ever swells
Through every passage, cell, and chink,
And echo ever answers “Drink!”
A corpse is borne in at the door—
He died in drink; and on the floor,
Dead drunk, some ghastly wretches lie,
Unfit to live, but, ah! to die!
The demon's voice there ever swells
Through every passage, cell, and chink,
And echo ever answers “Drink!”
280
He died in drink; and on the floor,
Dead drunk, some ghastly wretches lie,
Unfit to live, but, ah! to die!
I turned to where the parish dole
Is monthly dealt—too oft the sole
Resource of widow'd age and want—
Yet on this pittance, stinted, scant,
I've known upon this piteous dole
The demon levy tax and toll;
By him from Want's lean fingers torn,
Though shivering, starving, and forlorn!
Is monthly dealt—too oft the sole
Resource of widow'd age and want—
Yet on this pittance, stinted, scant,
I've known upon this piteous dole
The demon levy tax and toll;
By him from Want's lean fingers torn,
Though shivering, starving, and forlorn!
Turn ye to furnace, forge, and mine;
Turn to canal and railway line,
Where wheels revolve and hammers clink,
And, lo! up starts the demon Drink.
The joiner's bench, the mason's shed,
The place of dough and smoking bread,
The tailor's board, the Crispin's stool—
All, all proclaim the demon's rule!
Turn to canal and railway line,
Where wheels revolve and hammers clink,
And, lo! up starts the demon Drink.
The joiner's bench, the mason's shed,
The place of dough and smoking bread,
The tailor's board, the Crispin's stool—
All, all proclaim the demon's rule!
285
LYRICS OF DRINK.
Pour ye a wail of the wildest
E'er wrung from a worn heart and mind!
Tears and entreaties the mildest
Are blown like the chaff on the wind!
Speak through a trumpet of thunder,
The drunkard is deaf to the call;
Words of deep sorrow and wonder,
Unheeded, uncared for, may fall!
E'er wrung from a worn heart and mind!
Tears and entreaties the mildest
Are blown like the chaff on the wind!
Speak through a trumpet of thunder,
The drunkard is deaf to the call;
Words of deep sorrow and wonder,
Unheeded, uncared for, may fall!
Woe for the heart-stricken mother,
Sinking in terror and shame
From scenes that she vainly would smother—
The curse of her house and her name!
Woe to the grey, stooping father—
The blossoms of love and of trust
He hoped of his children to gather,
Are withered and gone up like dust!
Sinking in terror and shame
From scenes that she vainly would smother—
The curse of her house and her name!
Woe to the grey, stooping father—
The blossoms of love and of trust
He hoped of his children to gather,
Are withered and gone up like dust!
Woe for the drunkard—all feelings
Of manhood and duty are gone!
List to his horrid revealings,
When Reason lies drowned on her throne!
Horrors, deep, direful, are rushing
Through the dark 'wildered cells of his brain;
Despair fiercely rending and crushing
Each nerve and each hot throbbing vein!
Of manhood and duty are gone!
List to his horrid revealings,
When Reason lies drowned on her throne!
286
Through the dark 'wildered cells of his brain;
Despair fiercely rending and crushing
Each nerve and each hot throbbing vein!
Woe to the fiend-haunted dwelling
Where the demon of drink hath abode!
No Psalm, even or morning, is swelling,
But curses of man and of God!
His heaven and his hell are in drinking;
'Tis bliss when his raging desires
He is glutting; his hell is in thinking,
Sublimed in Eternity's fires!
Where the demon of drink hath abode!
No Psalm, even or morning, is swelling,
But curses of man and of God!
His heaven and his hell are in drinking;
'Tis bliss when his raging desires
He is glutting; his hell is in thinking,
Sublimed in Eternity's fires!
290
TRUST IN GOD.
Thus God hath said: Unblessed is he
Who makes an arm of flesh his trust;
Whose heart departs from God shall see
His blossom'd hopes go up like dust.
Who makes an arm of flesh his trust;
Whose heart departs from God shall see
His blossom'd hopes go up like dust.
Like heath in desert—scorch'd and bare,
'Neath eastern summer's burning noon—
That bears no bud, nor blossom fair,
Bestows no sweetly fragrant boon.
'Neath eastern summer's burning noon—
That bears no bud, nor blossom fair,
Bestows no sweetly fragrant boon.
When clouds drop fatness to the sky,
It holds no tiny, purple cup;
Though dews upon its branches lie,
It drinks no living juices up.
It holds no tiny, purple cup;
Though dews upon its branches lie,
It drinks no living juices up.
A parch'd, a herbless, treeless, wild,
A land of salt and rifted stone,
Where man hath never dwelt and toiled,
There shall he dwell alone, alone.
A land of salt and rifted stone,
Where man hath never dwelt and toiled,
There shall he dwell alone, alone.
291
But blest is he—how great his gain!—
Who trusts in God! When storms assail
Him, everlasting arms sustain—
His founts of mercy never fail.
Who trusts in God! When storms assail
Him, everlasting arms sustain—
His founts of mercy never fail.
Like stately tree, whose branches wave
Their wealth of foliage o'er the stream,
That spreads its roots where waters lave,
Nor fears the fervid solar beam.
Their wealth of foliage o'er the stream,
That spreads its roots where waters lave,
Nor fears the fervid solar beam.
Its quivering leaves, so darkly green,
Shall fan the glowing brow of noon;
Or, dropp'd with dewy brillants' sheen,
Shall glisten 'neath the cloudless moon.
Shall fan the glowing brow of noon;
Or, dropp'd with dewy brillants' sheen,
Shall glisten 'neath the cloudless moon.
Who trusts in God, no weeping fears,
No wasting cares his soul disarm;
When killing droughts bring famined years,
He trusts in God and smiles at harm.
No wasting cares his soul disarm;
When killing droughts bring famined years,
He trusts in God and smiles at harm.
His teeming boughs, with mellow fruit,
In rich and ruddy beauty glow;
And why? the living, spreading root
Is planted where the waters flow.
In rich and ruddy beauty glow;
And why? the living, spreading root
Is planted where the waters flow.
295
VERSES
[_]
Suggested by a Concert given in Aid of the “Coatbridge Ladies' Benevolent Society,” 18th November, 1862.
Benevolence, attended by beauty,
By elegance, fashion, and grace,
Makes pleasure, the handmaid of duty,
To plead for the poor in this place.
By elegance, fashion, and grace,
Makes pleasure, the handmaid of duty,
To plead for the poor in this place.
She pleads! while rich music is ringing
Through halls gay with splendour and light,
Where a voice, like a seraph's, is singing
Of Scotland, her wrongs and her might.
Through halls gay with splendour and light,
Where a voice, like a seraph's, is singing
Of Scotland, her wrongs and her might.
She pleads! while the charm'd ear is listening
To eloquent, moving appeals;
And the soft eye of Pity is glistening
At Misery's sorrowful tales.
To eloquent, moving appeals;
And the soft eye of Pity is glistening
At Misery's sorrowful tales.
She points to the couch of the dying,
Where squalor and poverty reign;
Where the widow is toiling and trying
Her fatherless babes to sustain;
Where squalor and poverty reign;
Where the widow is toiling and trying
Her fatherless babes to sustain;
296
To age, with its wants and its ailings,
Its weakness, and final decay;
Lone woman, her faintings and failings,
While tracing life's wilderness way.
Its weakness, and final decay;
Lone woman, her faintings and failings,
While tracing life's wilderness way.
Oh! 'tis where you succour and cherish
The aged, the widow, the lone:
Their blessing, when ready to perish,
Dear ladies, you often have known.
The aged, the widow, the lone:
Their blessing, when ready to perish,
Dear ladies, you often have known.
Heaven crown all your efforts with favour
The poor to assist and relieve;
It is found in each generous endeavour
“More blessed to give than receive.”
The poor to assist and relieve;
It is found in each generous endeavour
“More blessed to give than receive.”
297
AUL' SCOTLAN'.
Aul' Scotlan'! lan' o' cakes an' sang,
O' gude pease scones an' kebbuck whang,
Yer crumpy farls o' ait meal cake,
An' barley bannocks, wha wull bake?
It's no the wife that curls her nose
At cogs o' sowens or cadger's brose,
An' uggs at lang-kail, and wud skail
In dub or sheugh the water kail.
The tea-pat at the ingle lowe
Stauns, beekin' syne wi' laif or row,
Or bakes an' jam, she gusts her gab.
The callans—Geordie, Tam, and Rab—
Wi' no ae hair on chin or cheek,
Gang puffin' oot tobacco reek;
In bed at twal instead o' ten,
An' think that swearin' mak's them men.
Waesucks, there's nocht but dress an' daffin',
An' rinnin' here and there, an' yaffin',
Wi' haveral tongue, 'mang lassocks gilpie.
The aul' fock, turnin' grey an' shilpie,
Fin' oot ower late that want o' trainin'
Tae wark, an' wit, the mither hainin'
Her dochter, while fu' sair she toils,
Is juist the thing that lassocks spoils.
O' gude pease scones an' kebbuck whang,
Yer crumpy farls o' ait meal cake,
An' barley bannocks, wha wull bake?
It's no the wife that curls her nose
At cogs o' sowens or cadger's brose,
An' uggs at lang-kail, and wud skail
In dub or sheugh the water kail.
The tea-pat at the ingle lowe
Stauns, beekin' syne wi' laif or row,
Or bakes an' jam, she gusts her gab.
The callans—Geordie, Tam, and Rab—
Wi' no ae hair on chin or cheek,
Gang puffin' oot tobacco reek;
In bed at twal instead o' ten,
An' think that swearin' mak's them men.
Waesucks, there's nocht but dress an' daffin',
An' rinnin' here and there, an' yaffin',
Wi' haveral tongue, 'mang lassocks gilpie.
The aul' fock, turnin' grey an' shilpie,
Fin' oot ower late that want o' trainin'
Tae wark, an' wit, the mither hainin'
298
Is juist the thing that lassocks spoils.
The warl's sair altert. In my day,
Afore my hair grew thin an' grey,
A wife wad thocht it sin and shame
If that she brang nae siller hame.
The warkman's wage was geyan sma',
And sae the wife tuk pirns tae ca',
Or wrocht at the tambourin' tent,
Tae eke the wage an' help the rent.
In hairst she keepit up her rig,
An' left the wee bairns wi' the big;
An' wi' her fee bocht claes an' shoon,
An' keepit aye their heids abune.
The bits o' lassocks, blate and douce,
Wur learnt tae wurk an' red the hoose;
A stripit toush, an' plaidin' coat,
Maist feck o' a' the duds they got.
A towmond ye micht ta'en tae seek,
Nor seen a pipe in callan's cheek,
Or heard an aith. They kept the neuk
Ilk nicht whan faither tuk the beuk,
An' ran at biddin', wrocht their wark,
An' gat their schulin' efter dark.
There's been an unco grit ado,
An' muckle cry an' little woo,
Aboot what big fock ca' the masses—
Whilk means, ye ken, the wurkin' classes;
Tae gie them lear, an' learn the weemin
The airts o' cookery an' cleanin'.
Afore my hair grew thin an' grey,
A wife wad thocht it sin and shame
If that she brang nae siller hame.
The warkman's wage was geyan sma',
And sae the wife tuk pirns tae ca',
Or wrocht at the tambourin' tent,
Tae eke the wage an' help the rent.
In hairst she keepit up her rig,
An' left the wee bairns wi' the big;
An' wi' her fee bocht claes an' shoon,
An' keepit aye their heids abune.
The bits o' lassocks, blate and douce,
Wur learnt tae wurk an' red the hoose;
A stripit toush, an' plaidin' coat,
Maist feck o' a' the duds they got.
A towmond ye micht ta'en tae seek,
Nor seen a pipe in callan's cheek,
Or heard an aith. They kept the neuk
Ilk nicht whan faither tuk the beuk,
An' ran at biddin', wrocht their wark,
An' gat their schulin' efter dark.
There's been an unco grit ado,
An' muckle cry an' little woo,
Aboot what big fock ca' the masses—
Whilk means, ye ken, the wurkin' classes;
299
The airts o' cookery an' cleanin'.
An' noo, ye Scottish wives an' mithers,
This speaks to you abune a' ithers—
Ye maun be geyan sair to blame,
An' weel I wat I think great shame,
That ony man should need tae tell ye
Tae clean your hoose, an' tent your belly
Wi' weel-made-ready halesume meat,
An' tae be carefu' and discreet.
A' this is very gude an' needfu',
But, Oh! ye should be unco heedfu'
Tae airt yer bairns tae a' that's richt,
An' frae a' ill tae warn and fricht;
An' aye be shure ye gie a sample
O' what ye bid in your example.
Your wark's afore ye, never swither—
Be juist a true, gude Christian mither!
This speaks to you abune a' ithers—
Ye maun be geyan sair to blame,
An' weel I wat I think great shame,
That ony man should need tae tell ye
Tae clean your hoose, an' tent your belly
Wi' weel-made-ready halesume meat,
An' tae be carefu' and discreet.
A' this is very gude an' needfu',
But, Oh! ye should be unco heedfu'
Tae airt yer bairns tae a' that's richt,
An' frae a' ill tae warn and fricht;
An' aye be shure ye gie a sample
O' what ye bid in your example.
Your wark's afore ye, never swither—
Be juist a true, gude Christian mither!
300
THE WAY O' THE WARL'.
It's the way o' the Warl' when yer troubles are sair,
An' yer doon i' the dirt, aye tae tramp ye the mair;
Ye may warssle an' grane, ye may murther an' cry,
Wi' a glunch or a sneer she wull gang her wa's by!
An' yer doon i' the dirt, aye tae tramp ye the mair;
Ye may warssle an' grane, ye may murther an' cry,
Wi' a glunch or a sneer she wull gang her wa's by!
It's the way o' the Warl' tae think maist o' braid-claith
An' the weel-plenisht purse—Oh, hoo weel she likes baith!
The thin raggit doublet she canna weel thole,
An' she ne'er could pit up wi' a pouch an' a hole!
An' the weel-plenisht purse—Oh, hoo weel she likes baith!
The thin raggit doublet she canna weel thole,
An' she ne'er could pit up wi' a pouch an' a hole!
It's the way o' the Warl' aye tae soun' weel the fame—
Nae odds hoo he gat it—o' the chiel wi' a name;
But the nameless, though giftit, are caul' i' the yird,
Ere a sang or a word i' their praise she wull mird!
Nae odds hoo he gat it—o' the chiel wi' a name;
But the nameless, though giftit, are caul' i' the yird,
Ere a sang or a word i' their praise she wull mird!
Then maybe she'll say, when he's streekit and caul'—
“Puir chiel! I aye thocht him a gude kin' o' saul;”
An' syne ower his grave she'll big a wheen stanes,
An' sit on the tap o't, an' greet ower his banes!
“Puir chiel! I aye thocht him a gude kin' o' saul;”
An' syne ower his grave she'll big a wheen stanes,
An' sit on the tap o't, an' greet ower his banes!
Noo, yer way wi' the Warl's jist tae let her alane,
Ne'er fash her wi' yammerin'—ne'er mak' ye a mane—
Ne'er haud up yersel' an' yer sairs tae her een—
She's ower thrang wi' hersel', an' she cares na a preen!
Ne'er fash her wi' yammerin'—ne'er mak' ye a mane—
Ne'er haud up yersel' an' yer sairs tae her een—
She's ower thrang wi' hersel', an' she cares na a preen!
301
Juist help ye yersel', an' there's Ane that wull help:
Whan the Warl' steeks ye oot, ne'er sit down an' yelp
Like a doug, but bear bauldly yer heid, like a man—
Keep yer e'e an' yer hert aye abune gif ye can!
Whan the Warl' steeks ye oot, ne'er sit down an' yelp
Like a doug, but bear bauldly yer heid, like a man—
Keep yer e'e an' yer hert aye abune gif ye can!
Noo, Warl', hae I wrang't ye?—thou kens best thysel';
Let them that hae try't thee an' lippen't thee tell;
But, hark! i' yer lug, my puir hard-wurkin' brither,
Lippen aye maist tae Heaven, tae yersel', an' yer mither!
Let them that hae try't thee an' lippen't thee tell;
But, hark! i' yer lug, my puir hard-wurkin' brither,
Lippen aye maist tae Heaven, tae yersel', an' yer mither!
| Poems and Essays of a Miscellaneous Character on Subjects of General Interest | |