Volume Ii Part 19 (1/2)
Rise, la.s.s, and mak a clean fireside, Put on the muckle pot; Gie little Kate her b.u.t.ton gown And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw; It's a' to please my ain gudeman, For he's been long awa.
There's twa fat hens upo' the coop Benn fed this month and mair; Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa?
Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air; His very foot has music in't As he comes up the stair.
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet!
If Colin's well, and weel content, I hae nae mair to crave; And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm blest aboon the lave: And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a'; There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa.
WILLIAM J. MICKLE.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
SOLDIER AND SAILOR.
I love contemplating, apart From all his homicidal glory, The traits that soften to our heart Napoleon's story!
'Twas when his banners at Boulogne Armed in our island every freeman, His navy chanced to capture one Poor British seaman.
They suffered him, I know not how, Unprisoned on the sh.o.r.e to roam; And aye was bent his longing brow On England's home.
His eye, methinks, pursued the flight Of birds to Britain halfway over With envy; _they_ could reach the white Dear cliffs of Dover.
A stormy midnight watch, he thought, Than this sojourn would have been dearer, If but the storm his vessel brought To England nearer.
At last, when care had banished sleep, He saw one morning--dreaming--doating, An empty hogshead from the deep Come sh.o.r.eward floating;
He hid it in a cave, and wrought The livelong day laborious; lurking Until he launched a tiny boat By mighty working.
Heaven help us! 'Twas a thing beyond Description, wretched: such a wherry Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond, Or crossed a ferry.
For plowing in the salt sea field, It would have made the boldest shudder; Untarred, uncompa.s.sed, and unkeeled, No sail--no rudder.
From neighb'ring woods he interlaced His sorry skiff with wattled willows; And thus equipped he would have pa.s.sed The foaming billows--
But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, His little Argo sorely jeering; Till tidings of him chanced to reach Napoleon's hearing.
With folded arms Napoleon stood, Serene alike in peace and danger; And, in his wonted att.i.tude, Addressed the stranger:--
”Rash man, that wouldst yon Channel pa.s.s On twigs and staves so rudely fas.h.i.+oned; Thy heart with some sweet British la.s.s Must be impa.s.sioned.”
”I have no sweetheart,” said the lad; ”But--absent long from one another-- Great was the longing that I had To see my mother.”
”And so thou shalt,” Napoleon said, ”Ye've both my favor fairly won; A n.o.ble mother must have bred So brave a son.”