The Scottish peasant's fire-side A series of tales and sketches illustrating the character of the peasantry of Scotland. By Alexander Bethune |
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 | The Scottish peasant's fire-side |  |
THE WIDOW.
The widow in a little bield,
The humblest of the toun,
Had seen full twenty summer suns
Return and then go down.
The humblest of the toun,
Had seen full twenty summer suns
Return and then go down.
Twice ten years now had pass'd away
Since he, who shared her life,
In death's dark shadow found repose,
From a cold world of strife.
Since he, who shared her life,
In death's dark shadow found repose,
From a cold world of strife.
And five years more had pass'd her o'er
Since to her husband's side
She saw her lovely daughter born,
To be the earth-worm's bride.
Since to her husband's side
She saw her lovely daughter born,
To be the earth-worm's bride.
Yet still to knit, to wash, to spin,
To help her fortune there,
Whate'er her hand might find to do
Was aye the widow's care.
To help her fortune there,
Whate'er her hand might find to do
Was aye the widow's care.
And kind and feeling was her heart,
With love to all inspired;
And ready was her hand to help,
Where help might be required;
With love to all inspired;
And ready was her hand to help,
Where help might be required;
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For patient suffering well had taught
Her how to sympathize
With every sorrow, care, and pain,
In life's rough path which lies.
Her how to sympathize
With every sorrow, care, and pain,
In life's rough path which lies.
One eventide, in Autumn time,
I met her at her door;
And faint and weary was the look
Which her pale visage wore.
I met her at her door;
And faint and weary was the look
Which her pale visage wore.
'Twas then from racking pain relieved,
I first had gone abroad,
But still remaining weakness press'd
My spirits like a load;
I first had gone abroad,
But still remaining weakness press'd
My spirits like a load;
And, with a look of kindness which
My heart can ne'er forget,
She drew me to her humble hearth,
And bade me “tak a seat.”
My heart can ne'er forget,
She drew me to her humble hearth,
And bade me “tak a seat.”
“For I was still but weak,” she said,
And heaved a heavy sigh;
And then the soul of sympathy
Beam'd in her sunken eye.
And heaved a heavy sigh;
And then the soul of sympathy
Beam'd in her sunken eye.
And her wan face was kindled up,
As with a heavenly light:
The spirit of benevolence
Conspired to make it bright.
As with a heavenly light:
The spirit of benevolence
Conspired to make it bright.
And something like “the mounting blood,”
Again rose to her cheek;
Although the tinge ye scarce could mark,
Its current was so weak.
Again rose to her cheek;
Although the tinge ye scarce could mark,
Its current was so weak.
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And then her wheel she closer drew,
As if urged on by need;
Though, by her shaking hand, I saw
She scarce could draw the thread.
As if urged on by need;
Though, by her shaking hand, I saw
She scarce could draw the thread.
As kindly as I could, I ask'd
What made her look so ill?
And why it was, though weak and faint,
That she must labour still?
What made her look so ill?
And why it was, though weak and faint,
That she must labour still?
“To you,” she said, “I weel may tell
The thought that weighs me down;
For often have you felt, like me,
Your weary fortune frown:
The thought that weighs me down;
For often have you felt, like me,
Your weary fortune frown:
“And it is only to the poor,
The poor may dare complain;
They cannot tell the rich their ails,
Anxiety, or pain.
The poor may dare complain;
They cannot tell the rich their ails,
Anxiety, or pain.
“Lang, lang thae wither'd hands o' mine,
Hae earn'd my daily bread—
Aye pleased while independently
I could hand up my head.
Hae earn'd my daily bread—
Aye pleased while independently
I could hand up my head.
“The sorrows o' my widowhood
I patiently could bear;
For time had ta'en awa' the sting,
That made them ance sae sair.
I patiently could bear;
For time had ta'en awa' the sting,
That made them ance sae sair.
“The cherish'd dreams o' bygane years—
O' fond affection's ruth,
When to a husband's bosom press'd
In days o' happy youth;
O' fond affection's ruth,
When to a husband's bosom press'd
In days o' happy youth;
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“The image, too, o' my ain bairn,
When first she bless'd my sight,
In cauld November's cheerless month,
On a dark stormy night;
When first she bless'd my sight,
In cauld November's cheerless month,
On a dark stormy night;
“And the exulting joy and pride
Wi' which, mair late, I saw
Her eye sae bright and womanly—
Her breast o' mountain snaw;
Wi' which, mair late, I saw
Her eye sae bright and womanly—
Her breast o' mountain snaw;
“And a' my hopes and fears for her,
Lest she should gang astray,
And miss, amid the snares of life,
The strait and narrow way;
Lest she should gang astray,
And miss, amid the snares of life,
The strait and narrow way;
“These, like a picture of the past,
Were aye at hand, to fill
The intervals of pensive thought,
Which visited me still.
Were aye at hand, to fill
The intervals of pensive thought,
Which visited me still.
“Or if my spirit's sadder mood,
Their death-scenes wander'd through,
Even that was sorrow, soften'd down,
Which had its sweetness too.
Their death-scenes wander'd through,
Even that was sorrow, soften'd down,
Which had its sweetness too.
“Then to the future I could turn,
And fancy bright would paint,
The time when I should meet again,
The husband, and the saint;
And fancy bright would paint,
The time when I should meet again,
The husband, and the saint;
“And, in that happy world above,
Where comes no grief or care,
When we our child once more should meet—
Should meet our daughter there!
Where comes no grief or care,
When we our child once more should meet—
Should meet our daughter there!
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“With charms of purer mould than when
Her blush of maiden prime,
Oft made me tremble, as I scann'd
The vanities of time;
Her blush of maiden prime,
Oft made me tremble, as I scann'd
The vanities of time;
“For, though the parting pang was sore,
Baith child and sire had given,
Good hope that they had gone before,
To welcome me to heaven.
Baith child and sire had given,
Good hope that they had gone before,
To welcome me to heaven.
“These were the thoughts which lang had cheer'd
And bless'd my humble cot,
And nerved my feeble heart to bear,
Its doubly widow'd lot.
And bless'd my humble cot,
And nerved my feeble heart to bear,
Its doubly widow'd lot.
“But now the ills o' eild creep on,
And the remains o' strength,
Are hastening from my nerveless frame,
And must depart at length;
And the remains o' strength,
Are hastening from my nerveless frame,
And must depart at length;
“And oh! it is a dreary thought,
To think, when strength is gane,
That I maun beg from door to door,
Or starve, and dee my lane!
To think, when strength is gane,
That I maun beg from door to door,
Or starve, and dee my lane!
“This is a weakness: but it comes,
And comes, and comes again;
And though I strive to conquer it,
I aften strive in vain!”
And comes, and comes again;
And though I strive to conquer it,
I aften strive in vain!”
Thus spoke the widow: as she ceased,
She bent her o'er her wheel;
Its hum was silent, and she seem'd
Her own distress to feel;
She bent her o'er her wheel;
Its hum was silent, and she seem'd
Her own distress to feel;
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But soon she raised her head again,
And put the rim in motion,
And seem'd to overcome, whate'er
Had caused it, her emotion.
And put the rim in motion,
And seem'd to overcome, whate'er
Had caused it, her emotion.
“Why come not neighbours in,” said I,
“To pity and to give,
And bid your worn out, weary age,
In ease and comfort live?”
“To pity and to give,
And bid your worn out, weary age,
In ease and comfort live?”
Again her wheel was silent, and
Again she dropp'd her eye,
As meditating some excuse,
For common poverty.
Again she dropp'd her eye,
As meditating some excuse,
For common poverty.
“It weel may seem to you,” she said,
“As if I were ashamed
To tell the truth, in answering
The question ye hae named
“As if I were ashamed
To tell the truth, in answering
The question ye hae named
“But few there be wi' aught to gi'e:
The neighbours a' are poor,
And for the rich, they seldom cross
The threshold o' my door.
The neighbours a' are poor,
And for the rich, they seldom cross
The threshold o' my door.
“The tither night, there came, indeed,
A lady looking dame—
A visiter at the Big House—
To speer for me she came:
A lady looking dame—
A visiter at the Big House—
To speer for me she came:
“She bade me aye my Bible read,
And seek a happy rest,
And wean my heart from earthly things,
Which were but dirt at best.
And seek a happy rest,
And wean my heart from earthly things,
Which were but dirt at best.
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“And much more of eternity,
And of approaching death,
She said, while I, half famishing,
Could scarcely draw my breath.
And of approaching death,
She said, while I, half famishing,
Could scarcely draw my breath.
“Fain would I thought she was sincere,
And tried her words to trow;
But, when I saw her silken dress,
I felt—I kenn'd nae how.
And tried her words to trow;
But, when I saw her silken dress,
I felt—I kenn'd nae how.
“Alas! she knew not that to me
The fear of death was o'er,
And that I look'd without dismay
Upon its silent shore.
The fear of death was o'er,
And that I look'd without dismay
Upon its silent shore.
“And oh! full often now I wish,
When lang nights come about;
When by the lamp light eerily,
I see the fire gaun out.
When lang nights come about;
When by the lamp light eerily,
I see the fire gaun out.
“Full oft I wish, that when I come
Beneath disease to bend,
God, in his mercy, may make short
The passage to my end.
Beneath disease to bend,
God, in his mercy, may make short
The passage to my end.
“But, when her ladyship was gane,
I kneel'd me down, and pray'd
To Him who hears the raven's cry,
And lends the poor his aid:
I kneel'd me down, and pray'd
To Him who hears the raven's cry,
And lends the poor his aid:
“And then a deep and peaceful sleep
My weary eyes did close;
And I enjoy'd the luxury
Of undisturb'd repose.
My weary eyes did close;
And I enjoy'd the luxury
Of undisturb'd repose.
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“And since that night my appetite
Has grown aye less and less;
And though I hae but little now,
The thought brings nae distress.”
Has grown aye less and less;
And though I hae but little now,
The thought brings nae distress.”
Thus closed the widow's simple tale:
Such tales are seldom told
By poets or historians,
More modern or of old;
Such tales are seldom told
By poets or historians,
More modern or of old;
And yet in “life's low vale,” their truth
Is often proved too well,
Where dwell the uncomplaining poor,
And where the aged dwell.
Is often proved too well,
Where dwell the uncomplaining poor,
And where the aged dwell.
The tears were rushing to my een,
And I could hear nae mair;
But shook the widow by the hand,
And bade her no despair.
And I could hear nae mair;
But shook the widow by the hand,
And bade her no despair.
She smiled with such solemnity,
I could not smile again,
And said “her heart felt lighter now,
For having told her pain.”
I could not smile again,
And said “her heart felt lighter now,
For having told her pain.”
With spirits sunk, I wander'd hame,
Leaving the widow, only
With God to be her comforter,
In her sma' bield sae lonely.
Leaving the widow, only
With God to be her comforter,
In her sma' bield sae lonely.
But when the morning hour had come—
When ten o'clock was past,
And men and maids were at their wark,
The widow's door was fast.
When ten o'clock was past,
And men and maids were at their wark,
The widow's door was fast.
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At last the neighbours felt alarm'd:
It ne'er was thus before.
They cried—none answer'd from within—
And then they brake the door.
It ne'er was thus before.
They cried—none answer'd from within—
And then they brake the door.
And there, on her uncurtain'd bed,
In what seem'd calmest sleep,
The widow's form reposing lay—
Alas, it was too deep!
In what seem'd calmest sleep,
The widow's form reposing lay—
Alas, it was too deep!
They shook her, but she did not wake;
They felt her hand—'twas chill—
Her pulse, but it had ceased to beat—
Her heart, but it was still!
They felt her hand—'twas chill—
Her pulse, but it had ceased to beat—
Her heart, but it was still!
One hand upon her bosom laid,
The other by her side;
Without a struggle or a pang,
The ancient dame had died!
The other by her side;
Without a struggle or a pang,
The ancient dame had died!
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VERSES OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF AN ONLY BROTHER.
September 1, 1839.
Yes, all is o'er! the soul hath fled—
The parting pang is past;
From those pale lips the breath hath sped—
The last breath—ay, the last!
The parting pang is past;
From those pale lips the breath hath sped—
The last breath—ay, the last!
And must the cold relentless grave
Close o'er that form so fair;
And the long grass unheeded wave
O'er thy low dwelling there?
Close o'er that form so fair;
And the long grass unheeded wave
O'er thy low dwelling there?
Must the vile reptile's gnawing tooth,
That youthful face deform;
And that warm heart, so full of truth,
Fatten the slimy worm?
That youthful face deform;
And that warm heart, so full of truth,
Fatten the slimy worm?
Can this be truth, or but a dream—
A phantom of the night—
Destined to melt with morning's beam,
And vanish from my sight?
A phantom of the night—
Destined to melt with morning's beam,
And vanish from my sight?
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Alas, alas! it is too real!
Nor can I doubt it more—
As this despairing heart must feel,
Through every bleeding pore.
Nor can I doubt it more—
As this despairing heart must feel,
Through every bleeding pore.
Calmly thou sleep'st! how calmly now!
Thy race of suffering run:
Those moveless lips, that marble brow,
Proclaim thy journey done.
Thy race of suffering run:
Those moveless lips, that marble brow,
Proclaim thy journey done.
Nor sickness, poverty, nor pain,
Upon thy heart shall press
With saddening influence, again
Renewing thy distress.
Upon thy heart shall press
With saddening influence, again
Renewing thy distress.
For thee no more the sun shall rise;
Nor shall his evening ray
E'er glad again the summer skies
For thee, at close of day.
Nor shall his evening ray
E'er glad again the summer skies
For thee, at close of day.
No opening morn again shall bring
Its freshness to thine eye;
Nor autumn's mellow hues, nor spring,
New feelings e'er supply.
Its freshness to thine eye;
Nor autumn's mellow hues, nor spring,
New feelings e'er supply.
Death o'er the eye, which, wont to speak,
Hath thrown a dread eclipse—
Shedding his snows upon that cheek,
His lilies on these lips.
Hath thrown a dread eclipse—
Shedding his snows upon that cheek,
His lilies on these lips.
Yet if a thousand worlds could call
Thee back, and bid thee live;
Were they but mine, I'd give them all,
And deem it joy to give.
Thee back, and bid thee live;
Were they but mine, I'd give them all,
And deem it joy to give.
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And though thy steps were faint and slow—
Thy hand as infant's weak—
And though thy pulse were beating low,
And pale thy youthful cheek—
Thy hand as infant's weak—
And though thy pulse were beating low,
And pale thy youthful cheek—
Still I for thee could work or write—
Could drudge the livelong day,
Happy to have thee in my sight,
And hear what thou shouldst say.
Could drudge the livelong day,
Happy to have thee in my sight,
And hear what thou shouldst say.
Ay, happy! though of all bereft,
For which men struggle here,
Small were my care, if thou wert left
That poverty to cheer.
For which men struggle here,
Small were my care, if thou wert left
That poverty to cheer.
But, no! death's shadowy frown denies
The boon which I would crave;
Nor can the richest sacrifice
Bribe for one hour the grave.
The boon which I would crave;
Nor can the richest sacrifice
Bribe for one hour the grave.
And, since my words thou canst not hear,
Nor share this bosom's pain—
Since word of hope, or friendly cheer,
Thou ne'er canst speak again—
Nor share this bosom's pain—
Since word of hope, or friendly cheer,
Thou ne'er canst speak again—
All cheerless, brotherless, and lone,
My course through life must lie—
A shadow of enjoyment gone,
A dream of days pass'd by.
My course through life must lie—
A shadow of enjoyment gone,
A dream of days pass'd by.
Yet, though no sculptor's art should deck
Thy undistinguish'd grave—
A name so loved, amid the wreck
Of fleeting names, to save.
Thy undistinguish'd grave—
A name so loved, amid the wreck
Of fleeting names, to save.
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While one warm drop of blood remains
In this sad heart, to chase
Its fellow-drop through distant veins,
There it shall have a place.
In this sad heart, to chase
Its fellow-drop through distant veins,
There it shall have a place.
Thy firmness, long and often tried—
Thy strong and manly sense—
Thy goodness, free from pomp and pride—
Thy life of innocence.
Thy strong and manly sense—
Thy goodness, free from pomp and pride—
Thy life of innocence.
These, as the miser keeps his store,
My memory shall retain,
Till, landed on that silent shore,
Our spirits meet again.
My memory shall retain,
Till, landed on that silent shore,
Our spirits meet again.
279
ANNIE.
It was the weary winter time,
When frosty winds blaw keen,
And daylight, done at four o'clock,
Yields to the lang dark e'en.
When frosty winds blaw keen,
And daylight, done at four o'clock,
Yields to the lang dark e'en.
It was that day of deep repose,
Of all the week the best,
Which brings to sair worn toil a time
Of needful peace and rest.
Of all the week the best,
Which brings to sair worn toil a time
Of needful peace and rest.
The Sabbath worshippers had reach'd,
By many a winding road,
Through miry slough and stubble field,
Each to his own abode.
By many a winding road,
Through miry slough and stubble field,
Each to his own abode.
And light and bright the evening fire,
Before the cottars burn'd;
While chasten'd looks of kind regard
Were on each other turn'd.
Before the cottars burn'd;
While chasten'd looks of kind regard
Were on each other turn'd.
But Annie by her mother's hearth,
All silently was seated,
Where oft before her cheerful voice,
The lingering moments cheated:
All silently was seated,
Where oft before her cheerful voice,
The lingering moments cheated:
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Where oft before the Sabbath hymn,
So touchingly she sung,
That the rapt strangers passing by,
Deem'd angel anthems rung;
So touchingly she sung,
That the rapt strangers passing by,
Deem'd angel anthems rung;
And when upon his listening ear,
The long low cadence fell,
And rose again the harmony
With more melodious swell,
The long low cadence fell,
And rose again the harmony
With more melodious swell,
Then hath he stood to catch the notes,
With every pause between,
And, though the night wind whistled cold,
Felt loath to leave the scene.
With every pause between,
And, though the night wind whistled cold,
Felt loath to leave the scene.
But now in musing mood she sat,
Forgetting time and space,
While sad and solemn feelings cast
Their shadows o'er her face.
Forgetting time and space,
While sad and solemn feelings cast
Their shadows o'er her face.
And ask ye what could sadden her,
At such a tranquil hour,
When thoughts of peace and rest above,
Should over all have power?
At such a tranquil hour,
When thoughts of peace and rest above,
Should over all have power?
And ask ye why so heavily,
And tearless droops her eye,
When it were better upward turn'd
To lead her thoughts on high?
And tearless droops her eye,
When it were better upward turn'd
To lead her thoughts on high?
Alas! full well might sorrow dwell
Within that humble bower;
For Annie—she was fatherless,
And her old mother poor!
Within that humble bower;
For Annie—she was fatherless,
And her old mother poor!
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And—worse than ills of poverty,
Or loss of parent's care—
A hopeless thought was at her heart,
Spreading its poison there.
Or loss of parent's care—
A hopeless thought was at her heart,
Spreading its poison there.
Over the graves of parted friends,
Time breathes a sacred calm,
And deep affection for the dead,
At last is sorrow's balm;
Time breathes a sacred calm,
And deep affection for the dead,
At last is sorrow's balm;
And o'er the gulf of poverty
Hope's airy bridge can span,
Relieving the ill-fated wight,
From half his fortune's ban;
Hope's airy bridge can span,
Relieving the ill-fated wight,
From half his fortune's ban;
But sorer ills than these, I ween,
Within that path abide,
Where love spreads forth his flowery snare,
His scorpion-sting to hide.
Within that path abide,
Where love spreads forth his flowery snare,
His scorpion-sting to hide.
That day a young and bonny bride
Was “kirkit,” as they say:
The bridegroom had been Annie's love,
And lover many a day.
Was “kirkit,” as they say:
The bridegroom had been Annie's love,
And lover many a day.
But love in such a world as this,
Is selfish in its aim;
And that which ance was wild and warm,
Grows sometimes cauld and tame.
Is selfish in its aim;
And that which ance was wild and warm,
Grows sometimes cauld and tame.
And Annie's lover, lured by pelf,
Had left that heart so warm,
To plight his faith and troth to one,
Whose father had a farm.
Had left that heart so warm,
To plight his faith and troth to one,
Whose father had a farm.
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And Annie saw his alter'd looks,
And love from her estranged;
But never dared to ask him why,
His fickle heart had changed?
And love from her estranged;
But never dared to ask him why,
His fickle heart had changed?
She bore it with a patient smile,
And still had power to hide
Whatever she might feel; for she
Had still a maiden's pride.
And still had power to hide
Whatever she might feel; for she
Had still a maiden's pride.
And lightly of the wedding feast,
And of the pair she talk'd;
And with a lighter step than erst,
That day to church she walk'd.
And of the pair she talk'd;
And with a lighter step than erst,
That day to church she walk'd.
She deem'd that she could bear the sight,
As she the wrong had borne—
Could see her rival's happiness,
Nor seem herself to mourn.
As she the wrong had borne—
Could see her rival's happiness,
Nor seem herself to mourn.
She knew not that, when hope no more
The withering heart can cheer,
Then absence is the only cure,
For hapless mourners here.
The withering heart can cheer,
Then absence is the only cure,
For hapless mourners here.
And when that fatal sight she saw,
It was a thunder shock,
Which the last bulwark of her peace
At once asunder broke:
It was a thunder shock,
Which the last bulwark of her peace
At once asunder broke:
When, hanging on the bridegroom's arm,
She saw the happy bride,
A strange convulsion o'er her heart
Came, like a rushing tide.
She saw the happy bride,
A strange convulsion o'er her heart
Came, like a rushing tide.
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She felt—as never felt till now—
Her hopes laid in the dust,
And all her dreams of happiness
For ever left to rust.
Her hopes laid in the dust,
And all her dreams of happiness
For ever left to rust.
And as the breaking ice, in storms,
Chokes up the gorge below,
Controlling with its mass the stream
Which else would gushing flow,
Chokes up the gorge below,
Controlling with its mass the stream
Which else would gushing flow,
So Annie's dreams of lasting love,
To cheer life's latest years,
Fell down, and with their ruin choked
The channel of her tears.
To cheer life's latest years,
Fell down, and with their ruin choked
The channel of her tears.
That day, nor text nor sermon she
Had heard, nor psalm nor prayer;
Although with deepest earnestness
She seem'd to listen there.
Had heard, nor psalm nor prayer;
Although with deepest earnestness
She seem'd to listen there.
And, half unconscious, hame again
At kirk-skail time she came—
Her eye as dark—her face as fair:
Yet neither seem'd the same.
At kirk-skail time she came—
Her eye as dark—her face as fair:
Yet neither seem'd the same.
And sadly by the fire she sat,
While every former feeling
Woke in her heart a wayward pang,
Which scorn'd the art of healing.
While every former feeling
Woke in her heart a wayward pang,
Which scorn'd the art of healing.
And vainly did her mother strive
To comfort and to cheer;
For she had naught to hope on earth,
And scarcely aught to fear:
To comfort and to cheer;
For she had naught to hope on earth,
And scarcely aught to fear:
284
And, mark ye well, when hope and fear
Forsake the human heart,
That gloom, by mortals call'd despair,
Must soon supply their part.
Forsake the human heart,
That gloom, by mortals call'd despair,
Must soon supply their part.
And oft beneath a placid look,
Even to an early grave,
Will woman bear a bursting heart—
Appearances to save.
Even to an early grave,
Will woman bear a bursting heart—
Appearances to save.
Sad thoughts through Annie's shrinking frame
Had sent their sick'ning dew;
But passing time at last appear'd
Her vigour to renew.
Had sent their sick'ning dew;
But passing time at last appear'd
Her vigour to renew.
The patient smile again return'd
To play around her lips,
Like the last beam of summer's sun,
When the hill top it tips.
To play around her lips,
Like the last beam of summer's sun,
When the hill top it tips.
Her mother fancied that the cloud
From her young heart had pass'd,
And left it to its wonted peace
And cheerfulness at last.
From her young heart had pass'd,
And left it to its wonted peace
And cheerfulness at last.
The neighbours said a fresher bloom
Her cheek was mantling o'er;
And that her eye was now more bright
Than it had been before:
Her cheek was mantling o'er;
And that her eye was now more bright
Than it had been before:
And, though they never heard her laugh,
They said, that when she smiled,
They saw more signs of happiness
Than lie in laughter wild.
They said, that when she smiled,
They saw more signs of happiness
Than lie in laughter wild.
285
But who can see the secret thorn
Which disappointment plants?
Or guess the yearnings of the heart,
Or how it inly pants?
Which disappointment plants?
Or guess the yearnings of the heart,
Or how it inly pants?
And who can tell the varied shapes
Which sorrow will assume;
As, by degrees, it fits the frame
To moulder in the tomb?
Which sorrow will assume;
As, by degrees, it fits the frame
To moulder in the tomb?
Ere came the weary winter time,
With frosty winds sae keen,
The kirkyard grass on Annie's grave
Was growing fresh and green!
With frosty winds sae keen,
The kirkyard grass on Annie's grave
Was growing fresh and green!
And think'st thou—perjured man!—that now
Hath come thy happy time;
Since she can never more return
To charge thee with thy crime?
Hath come thy happy time;
Since she can never more return
To charge thee with thy crime?
Think'st thou the heart that broke for thee,
The peace thou didst destroy,
Will ne'er again before thee rise,
Thy comfort to annoy?
The peace thou didst destroy,
Will ne'er again before thee rise,
Thy comfort to annoy?
Ay—these shall haunt thy spirit yet,
Through fortune's overflowing;
And lead thy thoughts to that lone grave,
Where green the grass is growing!
Through fortune's overflowing;
And lead thy thoughts to that lone grave,
Where green the grass is growing!
And, when misfortune plants its sting,
Accusing thoughts to nurse,
That thought into thy cup shall pour
A deeper, bitt'rer curse!
Accusing thoughts to nurse,
That thought into thy cup shall pour
A deeper, bitt'rer curse!
286
But peace to her who slumbers now
All dreamlessly and deep,
Where mountain daisies deck her grave,
And dews of evening weep.
All dreamlessly and deep,
Where mountain daisies deck her grave,
And dews of evening weep.
Her greatest crime was poverty;
And, with unspotted truth,
Too pure for such a world as this!
She perish'd in her youth.
And, with unspotted truth,
Too pure for such a world as this!
She perish'd in her youth.
| The Scottish peasant's fire-side | |