Volume Vi Part 14 (2/2)
My couthie auld wifie, aye blythsome to see, As years slip awa' aye the dearer to me; For ferlies o' fas.h.i.+on I carena ae preen When I cleek to the kirk wi' my auld wifie Jean.
The thoughts o' the past are aye pleasin' to me, And mair sae when love lights my auld wifie's e'e; For then I can speak o' the days I ha'e seen When care found nae hame i' the heart o' my Jean.
A hantle we've borne since that moment o' bliss, Frae thy lips, breathin' balm, when I stole the first kiss, When I read a response to my vows in thy e'en.
An, blus.h.i.+n', I prest to my bosom my Jean.
Like a rose set in snaw was the bloom on thy cheek, Thy hair, wi' its silken snood, glossy and sleek, When the Laird o' Drumlochie, sae lithless and lean, Wad ha'e gane a lang mile for ae glisk o' my Jean.
Thy mither was dead, and thy faither was fain That the lang-luggit lairdie wad ca' thee his ain; But auld age and frailty could ne'er gang atween The vows I had niffer'd wi' bonnie young Jean.
I canna weel work, an' ye 're weary an' worn, The gudes and the ills lang o' life we ha'e borne; But we ha'e a hame, an' we 're cozie and bein, And the thrift I've to thank o' my auld wifie Jean.
Baith beddin' an' cleadin' o' a' kind ha'e we, A sowp for the needy we 've aye had to gie, A bite and a drap for baith fremit an' frien', Was aye the warst wish o' my auld wifie Jean.
The puir beildless body has scugg'd the cauld blast, 'Yont our hallan he 's houft till the gurl gaed past, An' a bite aff our board, aye sae tidy an' clean, He 's gat wi' gudewill frae my auld wifie Jean.
Our hopes we ha'e set where our bairnies ha'e gaen; Though lyart we've grown since they frae us were ta'en; The thoughts o' them yet brings the tears to our e'en, And aft I 've to comfort my auld wifie Jean.
The paughty and proud ha'e been laid i' the dust, Since the first hairst I sh.o.r.e, since the first clod I cuist; And soon we'll lie laigh; but aboon we 've a Frien', And bright days are comin' for me an' my Jean.
THE LAND O' THE BONNET AND PLAID.
Hurra! for the land o' the broom-cover'd brae, The land o' the rowan, the haw, and the slae; Where waves the blue harebell in dingle and glade-- The land o' the pibroch, the bonnet, and plaid.
Hurra! for the hills o' the cromlech and cairn, Where blossoms the thistle by hillocks o' fern; There Freedom in triumph an altar has made For holiest rites in the land o' the plaid.
A coronal wreath, where the wild flowers bloom, To garnish the martyr and patriot's tomb: Shall their names ever perish--their fame ever fade Who enn.o.bled the land o' the bonnet and plaid?
Oh, hame o' my bairnhood, ye hills o' my love!
The haunt o' the freeman for aye may ye prove; And honour'd forever be matron and maid In the land o' the heather, the bonnet, and plaid.
Hurra! for the land o' the deer and the rae, O' the gowany glen and the bracken-clad brae, Where blooms our ain thistle, in suns.h.i.+ne and shade-- Dear badge o' the land o' the bonnet and plaid.
SING ON, FAIRY DEVON.[9]
Sing on, fairy Devon, 'Mong gardens and bowers, Where love's feast lies spread In an Eden o' flowers.
What visions o' beauty My mind has possess'd, In thy gowany dell Where a seraph might rest.
Sing on, lovely river, To hillock and tree A lay o' the loves O' my Jessie and me; For nae angel lightin', A posie to pu', Can match the fair form O' the la.s.sie I lo'e.
Sweet river, dear river, Sing on in your glee, In thy pure breast the mind O' my Jessie I see.
How aft ha'e I wander'd, As gray gloamin' fell, Rare dreamin's o' heaven My la.s.sie to tell.
Sing on, lovely Devon, The sang that ye sung When earth in her beauty Frae night's bosom sprung, For lanesome and eerie This warld aye would be Did clouds ever fa'
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