Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
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| THE ORPHAN WANDERER;
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| II. |
 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
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THE ORPHAN WANDERER;
OR, KINDNESS FOR KINDNESS.
PART I.
Ae dreary night o' dark December,
While cauld winds whistled o'er,
A wee bit tremblin' wanderer
Came to my cottage door.
While cauld winds whistled o'er,
A wee bit tremblin' wanderer
Came to my cottage door.
I set him by the blazin' fire,
And warm'd his little feet;
And asked him why he wander'd thus?
And wherefore did he greet?
And warm'd his little feet;
And asked him why he wander'd thus?
And wherefore did he greet?
My questions had their full reply,
When the young stranger said:—
“Alas! good sir, my father kind,
And mother dear, are dead!”
When the young stranger said:—
“Alas! good sir, my father kind,
And mother dear, are dead!”
“Ah! wae's my heart, my little man!”
In pitying tones, said I;
“Ye hae gude cause to wander thus—
Gude reason, too, to cry!
In pitying tones, said I;
“Ye hae gude cause to wander thus—
Gude reason, too, to cry!
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“Yet say—have ye no shelt'ring home,
Nor place where ye may rest,
Nor friend, nor relative, to whom
Your wants may be express'd?”
Nor place where ye may rest,
Nor friend, nor relative, to whom
Your wants may be express'd?”
“I hae nae hame,” the boy replied;
“Nae freind remains to me—
My last, last dear protector, died
When my mither closed her e'e!
“Nae freind remains to me—
My last, last dear protector, died
When my mither closed her e'e!
“But she said I had a friend above,
Who pledged his blessed word
To guard the helpless orphan's head;
And bade me trust the Lord!
Who pledged his blessed word
To guard the helpless orphan's head;
And bade me trust the Lord!
“She bade me daily seek his aid—
His wisdom to direct me—
His mercy to forgive my sins—
His shadow to protect me.
His wisdom to direct me—
His mercy to forgive my sins—
His shadow to protect me.
“And still I trust his promises—
And aye try to believe
The truths my mither tell'd to me;
For she could ne'er deceive.
And aye try to believe
The truths my mither tell'd to me;
For she could ne'er deceive.
“When night so dark and dreary grew,
And cauld winds round me blew,
I thought upon her dying words,
And time has proved them true!
And cauld winds round me blew,
I thought upon her dying words,
And time has proved them true!
“I pray'd to God, to help me, then—
And he dispised me not;
For through the dreary gloom, he led
Me to your shelt'ring cot!”
And he dispised me not;
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Me to your shelt'ring cot!”
“Then thank Him now, my little lad,”
Said I; “and cease to fear;
You're welcome here this night to rest,
And share our hamely cheer:
Said I; “and cease to fear;
You're welcome here this night to rest,
And share our hamely cheer:
“For though our fortune, like your ain,
Is very, very sma',
And though our house but scantly keeps
At bay the drifting snaw,
Is very, very sma',
And though our house but scantly keeps
At bay the drifting snaw,
“While health and strength are spared to us,
I trust God aye will lend
The means to shelter hameless heads
Wham He may hither send!
I trust God aye will lend
The means to shelter hameless heads
Wham He may hither send!
“But guessing from your timid eye,
And from your modest mien,
You have not learn'd the vagrant art,
Nor long a wanderer been:
And from your modest mien,
You have not learn'd the vagrant art,
Nor long a wanderer been:
“For soon such wayward life as thine,
Dims the soul's noblest ray;
And bashfulness and modesty
In misery wear away.
Dims the soul's noblest ray;
And bashfulness and modesty
In misery wear away.
“But still unchanged your cheek appears,
With the quick blush between;—
How long, my little man, have you
A lonely wanderer been?”
With the quick blush between;—
How long, my little man, have you
A lonely wanderer been?”
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“I've wandered,” said th' boy in tears;
“Aye since my mither died;
But on her grave, the grassy sod
Nae simmer's sun has dried.
“Aye since my mither died;
But on her grave, the grassy sod
Nae simmer's sun has dried.
“It was on merry Christmas day—
A dowy day to me—
They laid her in the cauld kirk-yard,
Beneath a leafless tree.
A dowy day to me—
They laid her in the cauld kirk-yard,
Beneath a leafless tree.
“They heap'd the earth upon her head;
But nae kind friend was there
To shed a tear above the dead,
Or for her orphan care.
But nae kind friend was there
To shed a tear above the dead,
Or for her orphan care.
“I was a cotton-spinner then,
At Mr Moldwart's mill,
And gladly for my daily bread,
I'd been a spinner still;
At Mr Moldwart's mill,
And gladly for my daily bread,
I'd been a spinner still;
“But wearied out with watching lang
My dear, dear mither dying,
And lull'd by the incessant sound
Of wheels around me flying,
My dear, dear mither dying,
And lull'd by the incessant sound
Of wheels around me flying,
“Ae luckless night, when ten o'clock
Was past, I fell asleep:”—
Remembrance here o'ercame the boy—
He paused awhile to weep;
Was past, I fell asleep:”—
Remembrance here o'ercame the boy—
He paused awhile to weep;
Then thus resumed:—“My master came
And swore the mill was broken;
And then he kick'd me from my frame
With oaths I ne'er have spoken.
And swore the mill was broken;
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With oaths I ne'er have spoken.
“And never shall such awful words
By me be minced or mutter'd;
For my mither said they were unfit
By mortal to be utter'd.
By me be minced or mutter'd;
For my mither said they were unfit
By mortal to be utter'd.
“Thus I was banish'd frae my work
With neither friend nor brither
To tak me in, or pity me,
Except my dying mither.
With neither friend nor brither
To tak me in, or pity me,
Except my dying mither.
“And since the day on which she died,
Upon the warld driven,
I've been a lonely wanderer,
Without a guide but Heaven!”
Upon the warld driven,
I've been a lonely wanderer,
Without a guide but Heaven!”
“Puir thing,” said I; “and muckle pain,
I doubtna, ye hae borne
From those who think the wandering poor
Fit objects for their scorn.
I doubtna, ye hae borne
From those who think the wandering poor
Fit objects for their scorn.
“And muckle mair of suffering yet
Ye may hae to endure;—
But whether are ye treated best
Amang the rich or poor?”
Ye may hae to endure;—
But whether are ye treated best
Amang the rich or poor?”
“I scarce can tell,” the boy replied;
“The rich, at times, gie mair;
But in my sorrows and distress,
They never seem to share;
“The rich, at times, gie mair;
But in my sorrows and distress,
They never seem to share;
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“And I have sometimes thought, even when
They tried to treat me weel,
That folk maun aye be puir themsel's
Before they learn to feel.
They tried to treat me weel,
That folk maun aye be puir themsel's
Before they learn to feel.
“But I can tell ye what I met
The first nicht I was out;
An' then ye'll ken how they, at times,
Can drive puir things about.
The first nicht I was out;
An' then ye'll ken how they, at times,
Can drive puir things about.
“When I gaed to a farmer's door,
He chased me wi' his dog;
And tell'd me to be gone, and said,
I was a thieving rogue.
He chased me wi' his dog;
And tell'd me to be gone, and said,
I was a thieving rogue.
“He neither gave me bread nor cheese,
Nor shelter at his farm,
Though I was hungry, sick, an' cauld,
An' he was weel an' warm.”
Nor shelter at his farm,
Though I was hungry, sick, an' cauld,
An' he was weel an' warm.”
Pleased when he saw that to his tale
Attentively I listen'd,
The little orphan still pursued
That tale with eyes which glisten'd:—
Attentively I listen'd,
The little orphan still pursued
That tale with eyes which glisten'd:—
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“Next I gaed to a little cot
With neither barn nor byre;
And there a poor man took me in,
And warm'd me at his fire.
With neither barn nor byre;
And there a poor man took me in,
And warm'd me at his fire.
“And then he gave me bread and milk—
Though he had little store—
And said that he was vex'd to think
He could not give me more.
Though he had little store—
And said that he was vex'd to think
He could not give me more.
“And then he show'd a farm-toun,
Where, in a cattle-shed,
Puir hameless beggar wanderers
Had sometimes found a bed.
Where, in a cattle-shed,
Puir hameless beggar wanderers
Had sometimes found a bed.
“But the rich man again I met,
Wha, with an angry stare,
Said, that nae wandering vagabond
Sould ever nestle there:
Wha, with an angry stare,
Said, that nae wandering vagabond
Sould ever nestle there:
“For late a band of beggar brats
His stable had defiled
With vermin waur than mice or rats;
And then the rich man smiled.
His stable had defiled
With vermin waur than mice or rats;
And then the rich man smiled.
“And sadly down the guttery loan
Wi' beatin' heart I turn'd—
Half-choked wi' grief, to think that I
Had been sae proudly spurn'd.
Wi' beatin' heart I turn'd—
Half-choked wi' grief, to think that I
Had been sae proudly spurn'd.
“I thought in a' the warld wide
Nae place remain'd for me,
But by some snawy dyke at last
To lay me down an' die.
Nae place remain'd for me,
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To lay me down an' die.
“But still amid the gatherin' night,
And cluds o' whirlin' drift,
Wi' death in view, an' no a starn
In a' the darkenin' lift,
And cluds o' whirlin' drift,
Wi' death in view, an' no a starn
In a' the darkenin' lift,
“When near my end, as then I thought,
Ae hope had power to charm—
The hope my wither's soul would meet
Wi' mine an' mak it warm.
Ae hope had power to charm—
The hope my wither's soul would meet
Wi' mine an' mak it warm.
“An' down I sat, as I believed,
Nae mair to rise again;
An' yet sae weary was my life,
The thought gae little pain.
Nae mair to rise again;
An' yet sae weary was my life,
The thought gae little pain.
‘I had begun to feel my legs
Grow cauld, an' stiff, an' stark,
When a bit lighty blinkit out,
Like aizle mid the dark.
Grow cauld, an' stiff, an' stark,
When a bit lighty blinkit out,
Like aizle mid the dark.
“Ance mair a spark o' earthly hope
Broke in upon my breast;
For that sma' glimmer seem'd to gie
Promise o' bield an' rest.”
Broke in upon my breast;
For that sma' glimmer seem'd to gie
Promise o' bield an' rest.”
Here paused again the little man,
And turn'd his head about;
But warming as his story ran,
I long'd to hear it out.
And turn'd his head about;
But warming as his story ran,
I long'd to hear it out.
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And when assured it would not tire,
A lang, lang breath he drew;
And where his simple tale left aff
He thus began anew:—
A lang, lang breath he drew;
And where his simple tale left aff
He thus began anew:—
“I startit up, an' weel it was,
For twa-three minutes mair
Had left me frozen to the snaw,
To feed the croupies there.
For twa-three minutes mair
Had left me frozen to the snaw,
To feed the croupies there.
“My legs would scarcely move, but yet
I tried my feet to rin;
An', as I ran, I felt a glow
Down at my taes begin.
I tried my feet to rin;
An', as I ran, I felt a glow
Down at my taes begin.
“I follow'd fast the flickering light
Owre a braid trackless moor,
Until that friendly lamp-lowe brought
Me to a laigh-house door.
Owre a braid trackless moor,
Until that friendly lamp-lowe brought
Me to a laigh-house door.
“And entering joyfully, within
That little lanely sheil,
I saw a lassie like mysel',
And a woman at her wheel.
That little lanely sheil,
I saw a lassie like mysel',
And a woman at her wheel.
“The woman had a pleasant face;
But she seem'd sad and sick;
For marks o' sorrow an' disease
Were baith upon her cheek.
But she seem'd sad and sick;
For marks o' sorrow an' disease
Were baith upon her cheek.
“The lassie lookit something wae,
For tears were in her e'e;
But baith appear'd to be content,
An' baith were kind to me.
For tears were in her e'e;
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An' baith were kind to me.
“An' by their words, an' sighs, an' tears,
I soon was gi'en to learn,
That the lassie, wha was fatherless,
Was her mither's only bairn.
I soon was gi'en to learn,
That the lassie, wha was fatherless,
Was her mither's only bairn.
“I tell'd them, wi' a falterin' tongue,
The sufferin's I had borne—
The wants and waes o' poverty—
An' sneers o' bitter scorn.
The sufferin's I had borne—
The wants and waes o' poverty—
An' sneers o' bitter scorn.
“The woman listen'd to my tale,
As she had been my mither;
An' I thought the lassie's face grew pale,
As if I'd been her brither.
As she had been my mither;
An' I thought the lassie's face grew pale,
As if I'd been her brither.
“‘Alas! alas!’ the woman said,
While tears were on her cheek,
‘How had your mither's heart been wrung—
But, oh!—I scarce can speak!
While tears were on her cheek,
‘How had your mither's heart been wrung—
But, oh!—I scarce can speak!
“‘How had her heart been wrung, if she
Had kenn'd what was to be,
And seen the bitter, bitter blasts,
Her orphan was to dree.
Had kenn'd what was to be,
And seen the bitter, bitter blasts,
Her orphan was to dree.
“‘Oh! what an awfu’ nicht for ane,
Sae simple an' sae young,
To wander owre the dreary moor
Whare the robber-man was hung!
Sae simple an' sae young,
To wander owre the dreary moor
Whare the robber-man was hung!
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“‘I'm sure your little heart might quake,
Puir manny, when ye pass'd
The rickle whare the murder'd laird
Last winter breathed his last!’
Puir manny, when ye pass'd
The rickle whare the murder'd laird
Last winter breathed his last!’
“While thus the woman pitied me,
The lassie left her chair,
An' bade me come an' warm my feet,
An' thaw my frozen hair.
The lassie left her chair,
An' bade me come an' warm my feet,
An' thaw my frozen hair.
“And in that lonely cottar-house,
I got the warmest seat;
An' frae the hands o' poverty
Received baith heat an' meat.
I got the warmest seat;
An' frae the hands o' poverty
Received baith heat an' meat.
“Wi' that puir lassie soon I grew
As happy as a brither;
For we were nearly the same age,
An' likit ane-anither.
As happy as a brither;
For we were nearly the same age,
An' likit ane-anither.
“An' as the widow dourely span
At her lang weary task,
We had a thousand little things
To answer an' to ask.
At her lang weary task,
We had a thousand little things
To answer an' to ask.
“An' when the mither's task was done,
She, on the hearthstane, spread
Her ain red cloak an' coverlit,
For me to mak' a bed.
She, on the hearthstane, spread
Her ain red cloak an' coverlit,
For me to mak' a bed.
“An' then she said we baith might rest,
An' bade us baith to pray
For peace with God, and thank Him for
The mercies o' the day.
An' bade us baith to pray
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The mercies o' the day.
“An' she beside the fire that nicht,
A happy watch would keep;
For when a stranger was within,
She said she couldna sleep.
A happy watch would keep;
For when a stranger was within,
She said she couldna sleep.
“I felt my heart sink heavily,
As thus the widow spoke;
An', guessing what was passin' there,
Again she silence broke:—
As thus the widow spoke;
An', guessing what was passin' there,
Again she silence broke:—
“‘She thought that she could lippen me,
For she believed me good;
But a woman she had lately lodged
Had stown awa her hood.’
For she believed me good;
But a woman she had lately lodged
Had stown awa her hood.’
“I was right glad to hear her say
She did not think me ill;
For to be thought a thief, had gi'en
Me cause of sorrow still.
She did not think me ill;
For to be thought a thief, had gi'en
Me cause of sorrow still.
“And though the storm, wi' ceaseless sough,
Howl'd dowily an' deep,
The warmness o' her little fire
Soon lull'd me fast asleep.
Howl'd dowily an' deep,
The warmness o' her little fire
Soon lull'd me fast asleep.
“That nicht my dreams were a' as sweet
As I had found again
A mither's house, and mither's fire,
And mither o' my ain;
As I had found again
A mither's house, and mither's fire,
And mither o' my ain;
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“For she had been sae gude, an' kind,
An' mitherly to me,
That I forgot the ills I'd borne,
An' ills I had to dree.
An' mitherly to me,
That I forgot the ills I'd borne,
An' ills I had to dree.
“I wauken'd as the wooden clock,
That clickit on the wa',
Began to bir and then to strike
The little hour o' twa.
That clickit on the wa',
Began to bir and then to strike
The little hour o' twa.
“I peepit up, that I might see
The widow whare she sat—
And, oh! the anguish o' her look
I never can forget.
The widow whare she sat—
And, oh! the anguish o' her look
I never can forget.
“The blood sae aften came an' went—
Her face seem'd time-about
As red as is the redest rose,
An' white 's the whitest clout.
Her face seem'd time-about
As red as is the redest rose,
An' white 's the whitest clout.
“And still I look'd up and listen'd,
And thought a whisper there,
At times, came from her sickly lips,
As if they moved in prayer.
And thought a whisper there,
At times, came from her sickly lips,
As if they moved in prayer.
“She look'd at me, an' then she look'd
Whare her ain Phemy slept;
And clasp'd her hands in agony,
And hung her head, an' wept.
Whare her ain Phemy slept;
And clasp'd her hands in agony,
And hung her head, an' wept.
“Then she grew calmer, an' the fit
O' feelin' or disease,
Pass'd frae her sakeless countenance
Awa by slow degrees.
O' feelin' or disease,
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Awa by slow degrees.
“And rising wi' a reverent air,
An auld and weel-worn book,
From its ain shelf upon the wa',
Wi' carefu' hand she took;
An auld and weel-worn book,
From its ain shelf upon the wa',
Wi' carefu' hand she took;
“And bending owre its sacred page—
It was the Book o' God—
A smile came owre her sadden'd face—
Her e'en mair brightly glow'd:
It was the Book o' God—
A smile came owre her sadden'd face—
Her e'en mair brightly glow'd:
“Turn'd up to heaven they sweetly shone,
As if in heaven above
Her ardent look could fix upon
Some object of her love.
As if in heaven above
Her ardent look could fix upon
Some object of her love.
“And when she lookit down, her cheek
Glow'd wi' a tint sae bonny,
That I hae never seen sinsyne
A face sae fair on ony.
Glow'd wi' a tint sae bonny,
That I hae never seen sinsyne
A face sae fair on ony.
“But then from ilka e'e there hung
A clear an' sparklin' tear,
Which show'd her joy was mix'd wi' grief—
Her hope combined wi' fear.
A clear an' sparklin' tear,
Which show'd her joy was mix'd wi' grief—
Her hope combined wi' fear.
“With e'en half steekit still I look'd;
And owre and owre again
I thought, on earth, what could it be
Had gi'en her sicken pain?
And owre and owre again
I thought, on earth, what could it be
Had gi'en her sicken pain?
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“I lookit till I fell asleep,
And, strange as it may seem,
I saw that widow-woman still;
For she was in my dream.
And, strange as it may seem,
I saw that widow-woman still;
For she was in my dream.
“Sometimes she seem'd in bloomin' health,
And sometimes she seem'd dying,
Wi' her orphan greetin' owre the bed
Whare her last friend was lying.
And sometimes she seem'd dying,
Wi' her orphan greetin' owre the bed
Whare her last friend was lying.
“And in the anguish o' that dream,
I, too, began to weep;
For something, dinnelin', owre the nerves
O' a' my frame did creep.
I, too, began to weep;
For something, dinnelin', owre the nerves
O' a' my frame did creep.
“It wauken'd me when mornin' grey
Had just unclosed its e'e;
And, in a dover, there she sat—
Her head upon her knee.
Had just unclosed its e'e;
And, in a dover, there she sat—
Her head upon her knee.
“But short, I wat, was her repose—
She wauken'd wi' a start;
And then the fang o' dire disease
Seem'd cankerin' at her heart.
She wauken'd wi' a start;
And then the fang o' dire disease
Seem'd cankerin' at her heart.
“Pollutin' a' the fount o' life,
And a' the springs o' joy;
But powerless were the pains she felt,
Her pity to destroy.
And a' the springs o' joy;
But powerless were the pains she felt,
Her pity to destroy.
“Amid the ruins o' her hopes,
Benevolence seem'd to melt;
Her sympathies sprang sweeter forth
With every pang she felt.
Benevolence seem'd to melt;
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With every pang she felt.
“Oh! she was like my mither, when
She stretch'd hersel' and sigh'd!
Oh! she was like my mither then,
A fortnight ere she died!
She stretch'd hersel' and sigh'd!
Oh! she was like my mither then,
A fortnight ere she died!
Pale was her face, and her poor bairn
I thought might shortly be
As hameless, and as fatherless,
And mitherless as me!
I thought might shortly be
As hameless, and as fatherless,
And mitherless as me!
“But still the widow seem'd resigned,
And, though baith weak and wae,
She raise, an' through her morning moil,
Prepared hersel' to gae.
And, though baith weak and wae,
She raise, an' through her morning moil,
Prepared hersel' to gae.
“And patiently she stirr'd the fire,
And patiently prepared
Her frugal meal, and generously
Wi' me her parritch shared.
And patiently prepared
Her frugal meal, and generously
Wi' me her parritch shared.
“But for hersel', she scarcely preid
The food I thought sae fine;
Her heart had lost the tone o' health
That animated mine.
The food I thought sae fine;
Her heart had lost the tone o' health
That animated mine.
“The sweetest meat was lost to her—
Her breast sae warm an' kind,
Was fu' o' sorrow and o' pain,
And now her form seem'd pined.
Her breast sae warm an' kind,
Was fu' o' sorrow and o' pain,
And now her form seem'd pined.
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“She said, ‘It was a blessing still,
When strength to win and have
Was gane, the blunted appetite
Had ceased support to crave.
When strength to win and have
Was gane, the blunted appetite
Had ceased support to crave.
“Then as an earnest look she turn'd
Of pity upon me,
‘Puir laddie, whare your mither is,
Mae mithers soon maun be!
Of pity upon me,
‘Puir laddie, whare your mither is,
Mae mithers soon maun be!
“‘For there is something working here’,
Her hand was on her breast—
‘Which warns me that my throbbing heart,
Ere it be lang, maun rest!’
Her hand was on her breast—
‘Which warns me that my throbbing heart,
Ere it be lang, maun rest!’
“The lassie here began to greet,
And then her mither stay'd
Her speech to me, and turning round,
‘What ails ye now?’ she said.
And then her mither stay'd
Her speech to me, and turning round,
‘What ails ye now?’ she said.
“‘Oh! dinna fear, my Phemy dear—
My first, my latest, born:
Oh! dinna fear, while God is near,
Though I be from you torn!
My first, my latest, born:
Oh! dinna fear, while God is near,
Though I be from you torn!
“‘And then, Oh! then, God help my bairn;
When none remain to care
For her complaints—look down on her,
And hear her humble prayer!
When none remain to care
For her complaints—look down on her,
And hear her humble prayer!
“‘For every blessing which He takes,
God's mercy will supply
A double blessing to the poor
Who upon him rely.
God's mercy will supply
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Who upon him rely.
“‘When grieving owre your helplessness
Last night, I sadly pray'd
A promise in His Holy Book
Has open'd to my aid.
Last night, I sadly pray'd
A promise in His Holy Book
Has open'd to my aid.
“‘And I believe the hand that feeds
The raven's helpless brood
Will guard your head in danger's hour,
And still provide your food;
The raven's helpless brood
Will guard your head in danger's hour,
And still provide your food;
“‘Then dinna fear, my Phemy dear,
Nor mourn at God's decree;
For He can doubly recompense
You for the loss o' me.’
Nor mourn at God's decree;
For He can doubly recompense
You for the loss o' me.’
“Oh, it was sad for me to see
The widow sae resign'd:
It brought my mither's latest looks,
And last words, to my mind.
The widow sae resign'd:
It brought my mither's latest looks,
And last words, to my mind.
“And as I lookit on the face
O' her puir helpless bairn,
And thought upon my ain hard fate,
My heart began to yearn.
O' her puir helpless bairn,
And thought upon my ain hard fate,
My heart began to yearn.
“And sunk in sorrow's deepest trance
We there thegither sat,
Exchanging mony a waefu' look
As silently we grat.
We there thegither sat,
Exchanging mony a waefu' look
As silently we grat.
266
“And sair we grat, and lang we sat:
It wrung my heart to leave
The widow an' her orphan bairn
In solitude to grieve:
It wrung my heart to leave
The widow an' her orphan bairn
In solitude to grieve:
“For though I was a stranger, wha
Could yield them nae relief,
There was a link o' friendship in
Our very, very grief.
Could yield them nae relief,
There was a link o' friendship in
Our very, very grief.
“And when I left them, it might touch'd
A heart o' stane or steel,
To hear the widow biddin' me
A lang and last fareweel.
A heart o' stane or steel,
To hear the widow biddin' me
A lang and last fareweel.
“And oh, how sad puir Phemy seem'd—
I think I see her yet;
Her tremblin' lips, and shakin' hands,
I never can forget,
I think I see her yet;
Her tremblin' lips, and shakin' hands,
I never can forget,
“As she said owre her fareweel too,
And lean'd against the wa'
Breathless, and pale, and pantin', like
The fainting e'er they fa'.
And lean'd against the wa'
Breathless, and pale, and pantin', like
The fainting e'er they fa'.
“I never thought a single nicht
Could mak' a place sae dear:
How gladly had I linger'd there
Again their words to hear!
Could mak' a place sae dear:
How gladly had I linger'd there
Again their words to hear!
“But he, alas! wha has nae hame
Maun set his heart on nane,
Sae I began to gang awa',
Wi' heavy heart, my lane.
Maun set his heart on nane,
267
Wi' heavy heart, my lane.
“But ere I enter'd down the glen—
Whare a' thing disappears—
I turn'd to look upon the place
I had bedew'd wi' tears—
Whare a' thing disappears—
I turn'd to look upon the place
I had bedew'd wi' tears—
“Whare I had met wi' sympathy,
And been sae very glad,
And seen sae muckle sorrow, and
Had grown sae very sad:
And been sae very glad,
And seen sae muckle sorrow, and
Had grown sae very sad:
“I saw them baith—the lassie sat
On the auld divet seat,
The mither lean'd against the wa'—
My heart began to beat.
On the auld divet seat,
The mither lean'd against the wa'—
My heart began to beat.
“I sat down on a muckle stane
Upon a sandy knowe,
And no a breath o' wind wad blaw
To cool my breast or brow.
Upon a sandy knowe,
And no a breath o' wind wad blaw
To cool my breast or brow.
“The heavy dowy breezeless air
That fit o' sorrow nursed:
I loosed my waistcoat buttons there,
And thought my heart wad burst.
That fit o' sorrow nursed:
I loosed my waistcoat buttons there,
And thought my heart wad burst.
“And lang I sat, and hung my head,
In that wild spot alane,
And grat till I was sick again
Upon that auld grey stane.
In that wild spot alane,
And grat till I was sick again
Upon that auld grey stane.
268
“And aften has my heart grown grit,
And sad, and sair, sinsyne,
When thinkin' on that lassie's fate,
Sae like, alas! to mine;
And sad, and sair, sinsyne,
When thinkin' on that lassie's fate,
Sae like, alas! to mine;
“For sair, I fear, her mither's heart,
That was sae gude an' kind,
Lies cauld, cauld in the kirkyard now,
That dwellin' o' the pined.
That was sae gude an' kind,
Lies cauld, cauld in the kirkyard now,
That dwellin' o' the pined.
“I see her in my nightly dream
Wi' cauld an' hunger black—
A friendless, hameless, helpless thing,
Wi' nane her part to tak'.
Wi' cauld an' hunger black—
A friendless, hameless, helpless thing,
Wi' nane her part to tak'.
“But naething in my wanderin's
O Phemy can I hear,
And though she's seldom frae my mind,
I dinna like to spier.
O Phemy can I hear,
And though she's seldom frae my mind,
I dinna like to spier.
“Yet muckle, muckle do I dread
A thing sae slim and weak
Will sink aneath the withering
That chill's the orphan's cheek;
A thing sae slim and weak
Will sink aneath the withering
That chill's the orphan's cheek;
“And muckle, muckle do I fear
I'll never see her mair,
But while a thought in memory lives,
Her image will be there!”
I'll never see her mair,
But while a thought in memory lives,
Her image will be there!”
Here terminated, with a sigh,
The little wanderer's story—
A sigh which was expressive of
His sympathetic sorrow.
The little wanderer's story—
269
His sympathetic sorrow.
By this the porridge an' the milk
In timmer plates were servin',
An' glad was he to tak a share,
Like ane wha had been starvin'.
In timmer plates were servin',
An' glad was he to tak a share,
Like ane wha had been starvin'.
And when his little kite was fou,
Nae langer watch he keepit,
For down we spread his little bed,
And there he soundly sleepit.
Nae langer watch he keepit,
For down we spread his little bed,
And there he soundly sleepit.
But what a train o' mournfu' thoughts,
And sympathies, and fears,
Were rais'd by that wee wand'rers' tale
O' sorrows an' o' tears.
And sympathies, and fears,
Were rais'd by that wee wand'rers' tale
O' sorrows an' o' tears.
The widow an' her orphan girl
Before my fancy rose,
With all her wants and sufferings,
And unbefriended woes.
Before my fancy rose,
With all her wants and sufferings,
And unbefriended woes.
And he, her poor historian,
Sae little an' sae young,
Intelligent and desolate—
For him my heart was wrung.
Sae little an' sae young,
Intelligent and desolate—
For him my heart was wrung.
Niest day was rain frae morn to night,
And still he was my guest,
And simple as his fare might be,
He said “it was a feast.”
And still he was my guest,
And simple as his fare might be,
He said “it was a feast.”
270
And ilka tear the laddie shed,
And ilka sigh he drew,
Still brought his noble sympathies
And sorrows a' to view.
And ilka sigh he drew,
Still brought his noble sympathies
And sorrows a' to view.
His mournfu' spirit seem'd to feed
On pity, when bestow'd;
And ever and anon his cheek
With richer crimson glow'd.
On pity, when bestow'd;
And ever and anon his cheek
With richer crimson glow'd.
I saw he was intelligent,
And through the wild deray
Of his untutor'd mind, I saw
The beams of genius play.
And through the wild deray
Of his untutor'd mind, I saw
The beams of genius play.
The soul of poetry unsung
Lay sleepin' in his e'e,
And music dwelt upon his lips
As rich as rich could be:
Lay sleepin' in his e'e,
And music dwelt upon his lips
As rich as rich could be:
'Twas untaught Nature's melody,
Like blackbird's on the tree—
And from his glowing heart it gush'd
As sweetly and as free.
Like blackbird's on the tree—
And from his glowing heart it gush'd
As sweetly and as free.
The ditties of the Scottish muse
Had been his solace lang,
And aften had he soothed his woes
With some bewailing sang.
Had been his solace lang,
And aften had he soothed his woes
With some bewailing sang.
That mournful lay, The Forest Flowers,
He sung with touching skill:
Gil Morris' melting melody
He, too, full well could trill.
He sung with touching skill:
271
He, too, full well could trill.
How beam'd his sympathetic eye!
And how the big tears sprung!
While the sang o' Highland Mary
With laigh sweet air he sung.
And how the big tears sprung!
While the sang o' Highland Mary
With laigh sweet air he sung.
To his sweet voice, his early woes
A mournfu' tone had given,
That suited well the poet's lay
To his lost love in Heaven:
A mournfu' tone had given,
That suited well the poet's lay
To his lost love in Heaven:
For a' the passion o' the bard,
By lang, lang years unspent,
I'the wand'rer's thrillin' notes were heard,
As he warbled that lament.
By lang, lang years unspent,
I'the wand'rer's thrillin' notes were heard,
As he warbled that lament.
And wi' sic sangs as I hae named,
Which stir the heart to feel,
The darksome day, and lang dark e'en,
Pass'd owre our heads fu' weel.
Which stir the heart to feel,
The darksome day, and lang dark e'en,
Pass'd owre our heads fu' weel.
When mornin' roused the wanderer
Wi' the cock's unwelcome craw,
I felt mair pain wi' him to part
Than wi' some ither twa.
Wi' the cock's unwelcome craw,
I felt mair pain wi' him to part
Than wi' some ither twa.
His fate sae hung about my heart
Through mony a' after year,
I cou'dna think on his sad tale
And shun to shed a tear.
Through mony a' after year,
I cou'dna think on his sad tale
And shun to shed a tear.
272
II. PART II.
Wha kens where friends or foes may meet,
And frowns or favours be return'd?
Oh, let not then the poorest thing
That breathes on earth, be proudly spurn'd!
And frowns or favours be return'd?
Oh, let not then the poorest thing
That breathes on earth, be proudly spurn'd!
Winter was shining on the hills
In sheets o' frozen snaw,
An' gorgin' in the glens an' vales
In an uncertain thaw.
In sheets o' frozen snaw,
An' gorgin' in the glens an' vales
In an uncertain thaw.
The burns frae neighbourin' braes came down
Owre whiten'd rocks o' frost,
An' mining through the fretted ice,
In hidden tracks were lost.
Owre whiten'd rocks o' frost,
An' mining through the fretted ice,
In hidden tracks were lost.
The nights were lang, an' dreary too,
An cauld, cauld was the day,
When the voice o' dire Necessity—
Which none may dare gainsay—
An cauld, cauld was the day,
When the voice o' dire Necessity—
Which none may dare gainsay—
273
Commandit me to leave my hame—
My little cottage ha'—
An' gang whare strange was ilky face,
An' ilky sight I saw.
My little cottage ha'—
An' gang whare strange was ilky face,
An' ilky sight I saw.
I ne'er had left my hame afore,
An' when the last kent hill
Was lost among the distant mist,
I felt my heart grow chill.
An' when the last kent hill
Was lost among the distant mist,
I felt my heart grow chill.
A momentary swither pass'd
Through ilka nerve an' vein,
As I thought on the faces there
I ne'er might see again.
Through ilka nerve an' vein,
As I thought on the faces there
I ne'er might see again.
The wee, wee helpless bairnies
Wham I had left alane,
Wha had nae friend to pity them,
Nor guide, if I were gane.
Wham I had left alane,
Wha had nae friend to pity them,
Nor guide, if I were gane.
The fears I felt at partin' were
A father's anxious fears;
The tears that then bedew'd my e'en,
They were a father's tears.
A father's anxious fears;
The tears that then bedew'd my e'en,
They were a father's tears.
For I had mony a weary mile
O' unken'd gait to gae,
Owre mony a muir, through mony a glen,
Up mony a weary brae.
O' unken'd gait to gae,
Owre mony a muir, through mony a glen,
Up mony a weary brae.
Nae scrip weel fill'd had I to bear;
But what was far, far worse,
I bore a load upon my heart—
I bore an empty purse!
But what was far, far worse,
274
I bore an empty purse!
And weel I saw that in my path
Were pains and perils rife,
And though for life I trembled then,
'Twas for a father's life;
Were pains and perils rife,
And though for life I trembled then,
'Twas for a father's life;
For I had aft confronted death
Before, without a fear,
When there was none beside mysel
To whom my life was dear.
Before, without a fear,
When there was none beside mysel
To whom my life was dear.
I pass'd Loch Leven's grassy bank,
And saw its waters play
Around the isle where Scotland's Queen,
The lovely Mary, lay;
And saw its waters play
Around the isle where Scotland's Queen,
The lovely Mary, lay;
And wept her captive tears, and gazed
Upon those hills sae blue,
Whare ance the falcons o' her sires
In glorious freedom flew.
Upon those hills sae blue,
Whare ance the falcons o' her sires
In glorious freedom flew.
I pass d the lonely kirkyard, whare
The humble dust reposed
O' him wha sung o' that green isle,
An' her its wa' s enclosed;
The humble dust reposed
O' him wha sung o' that green isle,
An' her its wa' s enclosed;
Wha sat upon his unmade grave,
And saw the lovely Spring
Unfauld her sweets, but felt that she
Nae joy to him could bring.
And saw the lovely Spring
275
Nae joy to him could bring.
I pass'd around the Lomond's base,
And high aboon me saw
The twin-hills hap their towerin' heads
In heaps o' driftit snaw;
And high aboon me saw
The twin-hills hap their towerin' heads
In heaps o' driftit snaw;
And wheelin' round an' round their taps
The seamaws scream'd aloud,
Wi' wild an' stormy melody,
Beneath a threatenin' cloud.
The seamaws scream'd aloud,
Wi' wild an' stormy melody,
Beneath a threatenin' cloud.
I pass'd by Falkland's Palace grey—
A structure bleach'd an' blear'd—
Whare Scotland's ancient dynasty
In regal pomp was rear'd.
A structure bleach'd an' blear'd—
Whare Scotland's ancient dynasty
In regal pomp was rear'd.
But the glare o' royalty was gane
Frae that auld palace wa,’
An' the courtiers an' the parasites
Had left its silent ha'.
Frae that auld palace wa,’
An' the courtiers an' the parasites
Had left its silent ha'.
I enter'd Eden's cheerless muir—
A sandy solitude,
Wi' here an' there a cultured field
'Mid wastes o' heath an' wood.
A sandy solitude,
Wi' here an' there a cultured field
'Mid wastes o' heath an' wood.
An' past that muir the Eden winds
Wi' mony a wanderin' sweep,
An' irrigates mair fertile fields
While journeyin' to the deep.
Wi' mony a wanderin' sweep,
276
While journeyin' to the deep.
That stream which wont to be so still
Had burst outowre the lea,
And laid the level haughs around
Beneath a muddy sea.
Had burst outowre the lea,
And laid the level haughs around
Beneath a muddy sea.
And as the gloomy nicht drew near,
My heart wi' fears was fash'd,
And faster owre the slushy muir,
Wi' weary legs I splash'd;
My heart wi' fears was fash'd,
And faster owre the slushy muir,
Wi' weary legs I splash'd;
For i' the waste whare I was now,
Ae stormy wintry day,
A traveller perish'd in the snaw,
An' a packman lost his way.
Ae stormy wintry day,
A traveller perish'd in the snaw,
An' a packman lost his way.
An aye, as darker grew the nicht,
Mair doubtfu' grew the track,
Till I ken'dna whether to proceed,
Or whether to turn back.
Mair doubtfu' grew the track,
Till I ken'dna whether to proceed,
Or whether to turn back.
Nae shepherd's shiel, nor ploughman's hut,
In a' that wild I knew,
An' ilka minute gloomier still.
The dreary gloamin' grew,
In a' that wild I knew,
An' ilka minute gloomier still.
The dreary gloamin' grew,
Till black an' perfect darkness fell
Around my lanely head,
Wi' silence maist as terrible
As if Nature had been dead.
Around my lanely head,
Wi' silence maist as terrible
As if Nature had been dead.
277
I had rejoiced to hear the scream
Even o' the howlet drear,
For then I would hae ken'd at least
A livin' thing was near.
Even o' the howlet drear,
For then I would hae ken'd at least
A livin' thing was near.
I stood an' listen'd 'mid the gloom
Until my brain ran round,
But no ae sough o' wind pass'd by,
Nor breath o' cheerfu' sound.
Until my brain ran round,
But no ae sough o' wind pass'd by,
Nor breath o' cheerfu' sound.
And fate seem'd gatherin' owre me; for
A storm o' feathery snaw,
In deep an' smotherin' density,
Around me 'gan to fa':
A storm o' feathery snaw,
In deep an' smotherin' density,
Around me 'gan to fa':
And it seem'd death to linger there,
And it seem'd death to flee:
Nae hope had I but i' the muir
An unken'd death to dee.
And it seem'd death to flee:
Nae hope had I but i' the muir
An unken'd death to dee.
And sadly was my heart resign'd
To meet my snawy fate,
Till visions came across my mind
Which made me spurn its weight.
To meet my snawy fate,
Till visions came across my mind
Which made me spurn its weight.
I thought upon my infant race
Left fatherless at hame,
An' their sad case had power to brace
My fast relaxin' frame;
Left fatherless at hame,
An' their sad case had power to brace
My fast relaxin' frame;
And onward, onward through the muir
In wilder'd haste I pass'd,
Though aft 'mid bramble bush an' brier
I was entangled fast:
In wilder'd haste I pass'd,
278
I was entangled fast:
Yet onward, onward, onward still
Wi' restless feet I ran,
In hope to find some place o' rest—
Some bless'd abode o' man.
Wi' restless feet I ran,
In hope to find some place o' rest—
Some bless'd abode o' man.
But worn wi' lang protracted toil,
I felt my feeble strength
Unequal to the hopeless search—
My spirit sunk at length;
I felt my feeble strength
Unequal to the hopeless search—
My spirit sunk at length;
And down into a thorny ditch
In a dreary drow I fell,
And there was nane to see me die,
Or my sad death to tell.
In a dreary drow I fell,
And there was nane to see me die,
Or my sad death to tell.
But, flake on flake, I felt the snaw
Around my temples wreath,
An' round my breast, an' round my brow,
Stiflin' my very breath:
Around my temples wreath,
An' round my breast, an' round my brow,
Stiflin' my very breath:
But yet it fell sae silently,
An' on my senses press'd
Sae lightly, that my weary limbs
Enjoy'd a sort o' rest.
An' on my senses press'd
Sae lightly, that my weary limbs
Enjoy'd a sort o' rest.
And there I lay—a dizen'd wretch—
Half-doverin' in despair;
Yet frae that bed o' death I breathed
To Heaven a fervent prayer.
Half-doverin' in despair;
Yet frae that bed o' death I breathed
To Heaven a fervent prayer.
279
Then through the stillness o' the nicht,
Fell on my listenin' ear,
The sweetest sang of a' the sangs
I ever yet did hear:
Fell on my listenin' ear,
The sweetest sang of a' the sangs
I ever yet did hear:
And ne'er did heart o' mortal man
Wi' sic a joy rejoice
As mine, when roused again to life
By that delightfu' voice.
Wi' sic a joy rejoice
As mine, when roused again to life
By that delightfu' voice.
Then strugglin' frae that ditch sae deep,
I cast my fears awa',
An' frae my stiff an' tangled hair,
Shook aff the wreathin' snaw.
I cast my fears awa',
An' frae my stiff an' tangled hair,
Shook aff the wreathin' snaw.
I stood maist as astonish'd there
As auld Golumbus stood
When he saw the light, at dead o' night,
Glance through an Indian wood.
As auld Golumbus stood
When he saw the light, at dead o' night,
Glance through an Indian wood.
What being can it be, thought I,
Wha sings sae sweetly there?
Oh! can it be a mortal, or
A spirit o' the air?
Wha sings sae sweetly there?
Oh! can it be a mortal, or
A spirit o' the air?
Or can it be that I am free
Frae mortal life an' breath,
An' this some magic melody,
Or happy dream o' death?
Frae mortal life an' breath,
An' this some magic melody,
Or happy dream o' death?
Ah, no! it is a mortal's voice
That now salutes my ear;
For hope returns wi' every note
An' every word I hear!
That now salutes my ear;
280
An' every word I hear!
And bless'd for ever be the tongue
That syllabled that sang,
Which seem'd as if an angel sung
To lead my steps alang.
That syllabled that sang,
Which seem'd as if an angel sung
To lead my steps alang.
And doubtless He whose pillar-cloud
Led Israel's fearfu' host,
When through the trackless wilderness,
Before their foes they cross'd—
Led Israel's fearfu' host,
When through the trackless wilderness,
Before their foes they cross'd—
E'en He my 'wilder'd cry had heard,
For He is ever near,
An' graciously inspired the sang
That sounded in my ear.
For He is ever near,
An' graciously inspired the sang
That sounded in my ear.
It led me through the dismal gloom
Safe to a cot-house door,
An' never mair shall I forget
That dwellin' o' the moor.
Safe to a cot-house door,
An' never mair shall I forget
That dwellin' o' the moor.
For there a youthfu' father sat—
A bairnie on his knee;
An there a youthfu' mither watch'd
Its smiles wi' faithfu' e'e;
A bairnie on his knee;
An there a youthfu' mither watch'd
Its smiles wi' faithfu' e'e;
An' baith at ance they raise to bid
Me to their fireside come,
As kindly and as couthily
As it had been my hame.
Me to their fireside come,
As kindly and as couthily
As it had been my hame.
281
The young gudeman an' young gudewife
Seem'd courteously to vie
Wha would be first to bring me food,
An' first my duds to dry.
Seem'd courteously to vie
Wha would be first to bring me food,
An' first my duds to dry.
And aye the gudeman gazed on me,
As if he seem'd to ken
A face that he had seen before,
But coudna mind again.
As if he seem'd to ken
A face that he had seen before,
But coudna mind again.
And there was something, too, I thought,
About his sparklin' e'e,
That didna seem as he had been
A stranger aye to me.
About his sparklin' e'e,
That didna seem as he had been
A stranger aye to me.
And when my duds were dried, an' I
Began to tell the tale
O' a' my wilder'd wanderings
Through Eden's trackless vale,
Began to tell the tale
O' a' my wilder'd wanderings
Through Eden's trackless vale,
He said that he could guess the pangs
That struggled in my breast
While splashin' owre the slushy moor,
Without a place o' rest.
That struggled in my breast
While splashin' owre the slushy moor,
Without a place o' rest.
For he had been a stranger aft
Beneath the gloom o' nicht,
Without a friend, or hame, or hope,
Or star to bless his sicht.
Beneath the gloom o' nicht,
Without a friend, or hame, or hope,
Or star to bless his sicht.
And he had felt the bitterness
O' his ain cheerless fate,
When spurn'd again into the storm,
Frae many a proud man's gate.
O' his ain cheerless fate,
282
Frae many a proud man's gate.
And he had felt the happiness
O' bein' received within,
When at the point o' perishing,
Wi' a sair droukit skin.
O' bein' received within,
When at the point o' perishing,
Wi' a sair droukit skin.
For he had been an orphan left,
An' wander'd far an' near,
Through mony a dismal winter nicht,
In hopelessness an' fear.
An' wander'd far an' near,
Through mony a dismal winter nicht,
In hopelessness an' fear.
He said, too, he should ne'er forget,
Till his life's latest day,
The kindness that he ance had met
At a place ca'd Gowany Brae.
Till his life's latest day,
The kindness that he ance had met
At a place ca'd Gowany Brae.
“Gin ye hae met wi' kindness there,”
Said I, wi' meikle glee—
“I've had my share; for kind hearts there,
This nicht are sair for me.
Said I, wi' meikle glee—
“I've had my share; for kind hearts there,
This nicht are sair for me.
“An' gin I were at Gowany Brae,
Fu' mony a gratefu' tear
Shall fa' frae e'en ye ne'er hae seen,
For kindness shown me here.”
Fu' mony a gratefu' tear
Shall fa' frae e'en ye ne'er hae seen,
For kindness shown me here.”
The gudeman startit frae his chair,
An' took me by the hand
Wi' smiles o' recollection that
I scarce could understand.
An' took me by the hand
Wi' smiles o' recollection that
I scarce could understand.
283
“Oh! mind ye not that fearfu' nicht,”
Wi' earnest voice, he said;
“When ye kindly shelter'd frae the storm
A hameless laddie's head?
Wi' earnest voice, he said;
“When ye kindly shelter'd frae the storm
A hameless laddie's head?
“An' mind ye na the tale he tell'd,
O' the widow an' her bairn—
For whose sad fate his little heart
Sae piteously did yearn?”
O' the widow an' her bairn—
For whose sad fate his little heart
Sae piteously did yearn?”
“I mind the nicht and laddie weel,”
Said I, “o' which ye speak;
An' aft I've thought on him sinsyne,
Wi' tears upon my cheek.
Said I, “o' which ye speak;
An' aft I've thought on him sinsyne,
Wi' tears upon my cheek.
“But no ae word I've heard o' him
For mony a bygane year;
And yet I think I see him still,
And still his voice I hear.”
For mony a bygane year;
And yet I think I see him still,
And still his voice I hear.”
“Ye'r right, ye'r right—my faithfu' friend!”
Wi' firmer grasp, said he;
“For ye hear his voice, an' see his face,
When me ye hear an' see!
Wi' firmer grasp, said he;
“For ye hear his voice, an' see his face,
When me ye hear an' see!
“It was me ye shelter'd frae the storm,
Wi' kind an' tender care;
And here's the widow's orphan bairn,
For whom my heart was sair!
Wi' kind an' tender care;
And here's the widow's orphan bairn,
For whom my heart was sair!
“I likit her when first we met;
An' when we met again
She gave her heart an' hand to me,
An' now she is my ain!”
An' when we met again
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An' now she is my ain!”
“How wond'rous is the Hand,” said I;
“That regulates our ways;
Thus ‘bread upon the waters cast,
Is found in many days!’
“That regulates our ways;
Thus ‘bread upon the waters cast,
Is found in many days!’
“For I, wha ance, by chance, bestow'd
On thee some little aid,
Am guided back by Providence,
Again to be repaid!
On thee some little aid,
Am guided back by Providence,
Again to be repaid!
“And she wha ance had treatit thee
Wi' pity in thy need,
Although unsought, hath seen thee brought
Back to return the meed.
Wi' pity in thy need,
Although unsought, hath seen thee brought
Back to return the meed.
“An' lang, lang may ye baith be spared,
An' blest to ane anither,
Wi' bosoms leal that beat an' feel
In happy time thegither.
An' blest to ane anither,
Wi' bosoms leal that beat an' feel
In happy time thegither.
“An' may your bairnies a' be blest
Wi' bairnies o' their ain,
To cheer their hearts ere ye frae them
By Death's cauld hand be ta'en.
Wi' bairnies o' their ain,
To cheer their hearts ere ye frae them
By Death's cauld hand be ta'en.
“But tell me, if ye can, gudewife,
Did your puir mither die
O' that disease she suffer'd from
When the gudeman met wi' me?”
Did your puir mither die
O' that disease she suffer'd from
When the gudeman met wi' me?”
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“Oh! yes—oh! yes”—the young gudewife
Wi' tender tears replied;
“In that disease my mither dear
Dwined on a while an' died!”
Wi' tender tears replied;
“In that disease my mither dear
Dwined on a while an' died!”
“An' ye would e'en be destitute,”
Said I; “when she was gane,
An' ye was left, an orphan bairn,
In this wide warld alane.”
Said I; “when she was gane,
An' ye was left, an orphan bairn,
In this wide warld alane.”
“Aye, destitute indeed!” said she;
“And in my want o' faith,
I pray'd to God, at times, to send
The bitter boon o' death!
“And in my want o' faith,
I pray'd to God, at times, to send
The bitter boon o' death!
“I had nae friend to counsel me—
Nae helping hand to save—
Nor hame to hap my helpless head,
Except my mither's grave!
Nae helping hand to save—
Nor hame to hap my helpless head,
Except my mither's grave!
“Nae wonder, then, though my young heart,
In agony an' grief,
Was blindly covetous o' death,
Which promised sure relief!
In agony an' grief,
Was blindly covetous o' death,
Which promised sure relief!
“But God, in mercy unto me,
Denied my sinfu' prayer,
And sent a friend—a faithfu' friend—
To solace my despair!”
Denied my sinfu' prayer,
And sent a friend—a faithfu' friend—
To solace my despair!”
“An' how we were ye providit for?—
If it be fair to spier—
For a' the ways o' Providence,”
Said I; “I fain would hear.
If it be fair to spier—
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Said I; “I fain would hear.
“We ken that in His blessed Word
He promises to be
‘A Father to the fatherless;’
Has He been such to thee,”
He promises to be
‘A Father to the fatherless;’
Has He been such to thee,”
“Oh! He is faithfu' to His Word”,
The gudeman answer'd me;
“But neither Phemy nor mysel',
Frae sufferin' sair were free.
The gudeman answer'd me;
“But neither Phemy nor mysel',
Frae sufferin' sair were free.
“God aften leaves us for a while,
To sorrow an' to pain,
That we may feel his mercy mair
When He returns again.
To sorrow an' to pain,
That we may feel his mercy mair
When He returns again.
“The maist feck o' my history,
Ye've listen'd to langsyne;
An' Phemy's, though less curious,
Is something like to mine.
Ye've listen'd to langsyne;
An' Phemy's, though less curious,
Is something like to mine.
“The farmer o' Gudedivetland
Met her ae rainy day,
An' took her to the minister,
To see what he would say.
Met her ae rainy day,
An' took her to the minister,
To see what he would say.
“Then Doctor Drone proposed to send
Her to the spinnin'-mill;
‘Sic birth,’ he said; ‘for ane like her,
It might do no that ill.’
Her to the spinnin'-mill;
‘Sic birth,’ he said; ‘for ane like her,
It might do no that ill.’
287
“And Mr Mucklecraw declared
That he would send his cart
Wi' her; for out o' charity
He wish'd to do his part.
That he would send his cart
Wi' her; for out o' charity
He wish'd to do his part.
“Meikle they said o' charity,
An' tell'd what they had done;
An' a the things that they had gi'en—
The auld claes and auld shoon.
An' tell'd what they had done;
An' a the things that they had gi'en—
The auld claes and auld shoon.
“But just as they had settled it,
Up came auld Charlie Dick;
And baith stood glowrin' as they'd seen
A bogle, or Auld Nick.
Up came auld Charlie Dick;
And baith stood glowrin' as they'd seen
A bogle, or Auld Nick.
“‘Awa,’ said Charlie; ‘baith o ye
This minute, ye are free;
Leave Poverty to Poverty,
An' Phemy leave to me.
This minute, ye are free;
Leave Poverty to Poverty,
An' Phemy leave to me.
“‘And let me tell ye, Mr. Craw,
A heart as heard as steel
May whimper over sentiments,
It ne'er was form'd to feel.
A heart as heard as steel
May whimper over sentiments,
It ne'er was form'd to feel.
“‘Then speed ye to your leman dear,
And eloquently groan;
But never mair, in pity, speer
For Phemy Morrison.
And eloquently groan;
But never mair, in pity, speer
For Phemy Morrison.
“‘Gae thraw your mou' in sympathy,
For some great tragic chief;
But never wi' your presence mock
The wail o' real grief.
For some great tragic chief;
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The wail o' real grief.
“‘And as for you, gude Doctor Drone
Gae hame an' sympatheeze
In Christian love an' charity,
An' keep ye at your ease.
Gae hame an' sympatheeze
In Christian love an' charity,
An' keep ye at your ease.
“‘I take poor Phemy for my ain,
An' nae expense will spare
To make her worthy o' my love
An' worthy o' my care.’
An' nae expense will spare
To make her worthy o' my love
An' worthy o' my care.’
“Wi' that he took my Phemy's hand
And led her fast awa',
Leavin' ahint them Doctor Drone
And Mr Mucklecraw.
And led her fast awa',
Leavin' ahint them Doctor Drone
And Mr Mucklecraw.
“But Providence, to try her, yet
Had mair distress in store;
And I maun tell ye a' the trials
The orphan lassie bore:
Had mair distress in store;
And I maun tell ye a' the trials
The orphan lassie bore:
“Soon stricken down wi' sair disease
Her kind protector lay;
She watch'd him on his dying bed,
And saw his dying day;
Her kind protector lay;
She watch'd him on his dying bed,
And saw his dying day;
“And then ance mair upon the world
A helpless orphan flung,
In friendless, hameless, poverty,
Her little hands she wrung.
A helpless orphan flung,
In friendless, hameless, poverty,
Her little hands she wrung.
289
“Till the guid laird o' Landledale,
Ae early winter morn,
Met her beside her mither's grave,
Greeting, like ane forlorn.
Ae early winter morn,
Met her beside her mither's grave,
Greeting, like ane forlorn.
“He was a sober guid auld man,
Wha wore a bannet blue:
An' the orphan an' the widow aye
His tenderest pity drew.
Wha wore a bannet blue:
An' the orphan an' the widow aye
His tenderest pity drew.
“An' his kind heart at ance grew grit,
Poor Phemy's case to see:
He took her kindly by the hand,
While tears were in his e'e;
Poor Phemy's case to see:
He took her kindly by the hand,
While tears were in his e'e;
“And wi' a faither's tenty care,
He led my Phemy hame
To his auld Lodge, at Landledale,
And his auld sonsy dame.
He led my Phemy hame
To his auld Lodge, at Landledale,
And his auld sonsy dame.
“An' daily did the twa, to her,
Act a parental part:
They gae her wark, an' gae her lear,
An' sooth'd her sorrowin' heart,
Act a parental part:
They gae her wark, an' gae her lear,
An' sooth'd her sorrowin' heart,
“Wi' the consolin' promises
Which God's eternal word
Has offer'd to the faithfu' few
Wha humbly seek the Lord.
Which God's eternal word
Has offer'd to the faithfu' few
Wha humbly seek the Lord.
“An' when the guide auld laird grew blind,
My Phemy was his guide,
An' led him in his daily walks,
An' still was at his side.
My Phemy was his guide,
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An' still was at his side.
“The laird was cheerfu' to the last
O' his lang happy life;
And, jestin', aft he ca'd his guide,
“His little young gudewife!”
O' his lang happy life;
And, jestin', aft he ca'd his guide,
“His little young gudewife!”
“'Twas there, when grown up to a man,
An' labourin' for my bread,
I met wi' Phemy an' the laird,
As down the burn they stray'd.
An' labourin' for my bread,
I met wi' Phemy an' the laird,
As down the burn they stray'd.
“The maid sae lovely was in youth.
The laird sae sweet, in age,
That, to my wonderin' sicht, they seem'd
A seraph an' a sage.
The laird sae sweet, in age,
That, to my wonderin' sicht, they seem'd
A seraph an' a sage.
“I didna ken my Phemy then;
But love's delightfu' lowe
Was kindled in my heart, an' burn'd,
I couldna tell ye how.
But love's delightfu' lowe
Was kindled in my heart, an' burn'd,
I couldna tell ye how.
“I learn'd her name an' history
Frae an auld man by the way,
An' to the Lodge o' Landledale,
Came back that very day.
Frae an auld man by the way,
An' to the Lodge o' Landledale,
Came back that very day.
“The sun was blinkin' bonnily
Upon the gowany lea,
When I met Phemy by hersel’
Beneath a chesnut tree.
Upon the gowany lea,
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Beneath a chesnut tree.
“The blush o' maiden modesty
Was fresh upon her cheek,
And yet a smile was on her lip
When first she tried to speak.
Was fresh upon her cheek,
And yet a smile was on her lip
When first she tried to speak.
“But nane can tell the happiness
We felt ance mair to meet:
Our intercourse that e'enin' was
Baith rapturous an' sweet;
We felt ance mair to meet:
Our intercourse that e'enin' was
Baith rapturous an' sweet;
“For though we'd met but ance afore,
And soon were doom'd to part,
That hour had found a place for me
E'en in a lassie's heart;
And soon were doom'd to part,
That hour had found a place for me
E'en in a lassie's heart;
“An' time or distance ne'er effaced
Ae feelin' o' langsyne,
Nor blotted out ae lineament
O' her loved face frae mine.
Ae feelin' o' langsyne,
Nor blotted out ae lineament
O' her loved face frae mine.
“Just at that time the gude auld laird
A servant man required;
And sic a kindly master was
By mony a ane desired.
A servant man required;
And sic a kindly master was
By mony a ane desired.
“And I was needfu' o' a place,
My master being dead;
For we, by daily labour, aye
Maun win our daily bread.
My master being dead;
For we, by daily labour, aye
Maun win our daily bread.
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“I gave my testimonials to
The laird, wha saw them not;
But his kind lady recognised
The lines her brither wrote.
The laird, wha saw them not;
But his kind lady recognised
The lines her brither wrote.
“And though she ne'er had seen my face
Afore she saw me here,
Yet, to a sister's yearnin' heart,
Her brither's name was dear.
Afore she saw me here,
Yet, to a sister's yearnin' heart,
Her brither's name was dear.
“And I was fee'd and arled there,
To ca' the cart an' plough
On Landle's bonny banks an' braes,
An' Landle's gowany howe.
To ca' the cart an' plough
On Landle's bonny banks an' braes,
An' Landle's gowany howe.
“An' blest for ever be that day!
Since then, the same roof-tree
That keepit Phemy frae the storm,
Has also keepit me.
Since then, the same roof-tree
That keepit Phemy frae the storm,
Has also keepit me.
“The laird, in his last testament,
Bequeath'd a lease for life
O' this wee cot, an' park o' land,
To me an' my guidwife;
Bequeath'd a lease for life
O' this wee cot, an' park o' land,
To me an' my guidwife;
“And here we've lived as happily
As man an' wife may live,
Whase little wants are a' supplied,
An' something left to give,
As man an' wife may live,
Whase little wants are a' supplied,
An' something left to give,
“To help the poor an' destitute
In days o' their distress;
An' never do I think sic gifts
Have made our little less.”
In days o' their distress;
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Have made our little less.”
My kindly entertainer's tale
Was now tell'd till an end,
And little mair hae I to tell
To either foe or friend.
Was now tell'd till an end,
And little mair hae I to tell
To either foe or friend.
Niest day I wi' the mornin' rose
An' got my errand done,
An' stood afore my ain house door
Juist at the set o' sun.
An' got my errand done,
An' stood afore my ain house door
Juist at the set o' sun.
Thus happily my story ends:—
Kindness for Kindness still
Cements the hearts o' faithfu' friends,
An' saves frae muckle ill.
Kindness for Kindness still
Cements the hearts o' faithfu' friends,
An' saves frae muckle ill.
An' aft a little kindness shewn,
Even to a generous foe,
Has been repaid wi' sympathy
In future days o' woe.
Even to a generous foe,
Has been repaid wi' sympathy
In future days o' woe.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |