Of a’ the streams o’ AnnandaleWi’ names embalm’t i’ sang or story,Gin Mylke, for beauty, beer the bell,I think I’d gi’e the mell to Corrie.It’s “up by Corrie—doon by Dryfe,”(Gin a coortin’ ye wad toddle)“That’s the gate to seek a wife”—(Hoo daft aul’ rhymes bide in yin’s noddle!)But sud ye take ye’re way by Corrie,Till ye come gey near to Borelan’,Ye’ll aye see muir an’ bent afore ye—Scarce ochte a’ roon’ but bent an’ muirlan’.“There’s Corrie Lea an’ Corrie Law—Corrie Mains—an’ mowdies hork” there—“Corrie Hill an’ Corrie Ha’-Corrie Common, Corrie Kirk” there.But Corrie Kirk’s nae kirk ava—Corrie Hill’s nae hill to roam on—Snell’s the blast on Corrie Law—Scant the gerse on Corrie Common.They tell me Corrie’s alter’t now;It’s drain’t, they say, an’ fenced an’ plantit;But as I min’ ’t, lang syne, I trow,Drain, fence, an’ biel war sairly wantit.Than what is’t gars me ply my penI’ scribblin’ doon this rhymin’ clatter?An’ what is’t mak’s me aye sae fainTo hear or read o’ Corrie water?Atweel it is a simple thingAs ever dreamer wastit time on;Scarce worth the while to say or sing—For this is what I’m boun’ to rhyme on:—The mem’ry o’ a denty quean,I couldna draw a plain-spak’ word frae;Scarce heard ava—no fairly seen—An’ never efter seen or heard frae.A’ day we’d stey’t at Corrie Common,Drinkin’, thrawin’ quoits, an’ jeerin’;An’ doon to Stidriggs, or the gloamin’,Five wil’ chiel’s we gaed careerin’.(Jock Porteous, An’ro Hen’erson,Wull Fergyson, me, Wullie Beaty.Twae, like mysel’, may yet leeve on—The ither twae—Aih me, the pity!)But passin’ by a wee cot-house,Wi’ riggin’ laigh, an’ gable suety,Yin cries oot sae baul’ an’ croose,“Come, boys, c’ way in, an’ licht the cutty!”I’d maist ill tricks a lad can ha’e—An’some I hadna neebors spak’ o’—But naither frien’ nor foe could sayI ever cared to blaw tobacco.An’ in they gaed; but I stood thereBefore the door, a tentless sentry,Till startled by a vision fairGaun jookin’ ben across the entry.Blate—blate an’ backwarts aye I’ve been,An’ niver forrat-ways nor saucy.But where’s the guff at bricht nineteen’At wadna chace a fleein’ lassie?Sae ben I slinkit—hat i’ han’—An’ there, beside the wee bit wunnock,I saw a peerless maiden stan’,Just pantin’ like a hare i’ panic.Wi’ shapely form i’ braw black silk—Lang curls as black’s the silk, an’ blacker—A changefu’ cheek—a throat like milk.An’ lown an’ pawkily I spak’ her.I pled for my companions rouch—I trow’t they couldna mean to fley her:But only heard her breath’s quick souch,For fient a word could I get frae her.I howp’t she didna thinkmerude—Civility I weel intendit;An’, quit I naither wad nor could,But pardon—gin Ihadoffendit.I ventur’t yince to speir her name—I offen askit where she cam’ frae—(That hoosie boodna’ be her hame)An’ thochte I heard ae word likeWamphray.But plague licht on thae rantin’ chiel’s,’At couldna let yin coort i’ quayet,But keepit cryin’—bletherin’ de’ils!—“Hoy! This is no the bit to stey at;Co’ way to Stidriggs!”—sae I gaed,But first the lassie low I herkit,“I’ll come again?” was what I said—An’ nae denial I remerkit.We wan to Stidriggs Bent—but haith!Ourbentwas Stidriggs’ tea an’ toddy;An’ he that wadna roose them baith,Maun be a puir wanwauchtie body.To Whitcastles I should ha’e gaen,But weet!—I’ve seldom seen the like o’ ’t—An’ An’ro swore i’ siccan a rainHe wadna turn a gangrel’s tyke out.Twae close box-beds, to five big chiel’s,Presentit scrimp accommodation;But, “heids an’ thraws, or necks an’ heels,”They’d haud by An’ro’s invitation.As they begood to think o’ bed,An opportunity I grippit,Borrow’t, no askin’, some ane’s plaid,An’ furth into the rain I slippit.An’ though the gate I hardly kent,I’ trustfu’ love’s instinct confidin’,I, darklin’, stayvelt owre the bent,An’ fan’ the cot, but ither guidin’.An’ nearin’ that wee hoose at last,O’ monie a fletherin’ wordie thinkin’,I saw, what gar’t my heart beat fast,A licht frae oot it’s window blinkin’.I keekit through, but nochte could see;A claith was there, half drawn, half drappit;But sure the licht was meen’t for me;—Upon the glass I lichtly chappit.An’ suen I heard the openin’ door;An’ through it’s chink I saftly glidit;But turnin’ on the lichted floor,I saw I’d been sair, sair misguidit—I saw what gar’t my heart stan’ still,An’ set my verra flesh a’ creepin’,While doon my limbs the sweit draps chill,Like thowin’ snaw gaed dreepin’, dreepin’.I’ place o’ braw black silken goon—A bed-goon an’ a drogget coatie;I’ place o’ ringlets clusterin’ doon—A reekit mutch an’ chaft-locks tawtie;I’ place o’ saft lid-droopin’ e’en—Ae wulcat spark—a winkin’ won’er;I’ place o’ lips wi’ bliss atween—Twae gums wad gar a corby scunner;I’ place o’ broo an’ throat o’ sna’An’ bosom fraucht wi’ sweet emotion—A face an’ figur’ ’passin’ a’The gruesomeness o’ earth or ocean.An’ sic a tongue—Gude guide a’ weel!—She lows’t on me—sic fearfu’ flytin’!—I’ sic a voice—half craik, half squeel—Wi’ jeers an’ jibes braid, bitter bitin’.“To gie yin fash,” Rob Burns declared,“An aul’ wife’s tongue’s a feckless matter;”But honest Robin never heardThat aul’ wife’s tongue i’ Corrie water.An’ whan she made a calmer souch,An’ stey’t a wee her skirlin’ ang-er,I heard, far ben, a sweet wee lauch,An’ dowdna thole the ordeal lang-er.I flang the carlin fierce aside,An’ left her up hersel’ to gether;An’, frae her cot, wi’ wrathfu’ stride,I fled to face the midnicht w’ather.An’ back I took my darksome way,By gerse-grown dykes an’ resh-rouch heid rigs;By spretty knowe an’ staney brae,An’, sair forfowch’en, wan to Stidriggs,Where, hingin’ up the borrow’t plaid,An’ owre my queer mischanter smilin’,I took my share o’ ae box-bed,But couldna sleep for thochte’s beguilin’.For whae could yon sweet lassie beThat lauch’t at that aul’ carlin’ scaul’in’?’Twas plain, I’ve said afore, to seeThat cot-hoose couldna be her dwallin’.How cam’ she to be wonnin’ thereI’ that aul’ muirlan’ clay-wa’t biggin?How could a gem sae bricht an’ rareBe treasur’t ’neath its crazy riggin’?It’s mair nor therty year sin syne—That maiden’s aiblins now a grannie—But ’mang the folk I like to min’,I offen see her, skeich an’ bonnie.An’ whiles I’ve thochte that bed she gi’en,An’ keep’t, her word to be sweet-heartit,Like ither sweethearts, she’d ha’e beenFrae mem’ry’s hauld lang, lang depairtit.For weel I wat, fair favours wonHa’e frae men’s minds aye suener slippitNor ochte we’ve set oor hearts upon,An’ triet to grip—but fail’t to grip it.
Of a’ the streams o’ AnnandaleWi’ names embalm’t i’ sang or story,Gin Mylke, for beauty, beer the bell,I think I’d gi’e the mell to Corrie.It’s “up by Corrie—doon by Dryfe,”(Gin a coortin’ ye wad toddle)“That’s the gate to seek a wife”—(Hoo daft aul’ rhymes bide in yin’s noddle!)But sud ye take ye’re way by Corrie,Till ye come gey near to Borelan’,Ye’ll aye see muir an’ bent afore ye—Scarce ochte a’ roon’ but bent an’ muirlan’.“There’s Corrie Lea an’ Corrie Law—Corrie Mains—an’ mowdies hork” there—“Corrie Hill an’ Corrie Ha’-Corrie Common, Corrie Kirk” there.But Corrie Kirk’s nae kirk ava—Corrie Hill’s nae hill to roam on—Snell’s the blast on Corrie Law—Scant the gerse on Corrie Common.They tell me Corrie’s alter’t now;It’s drain’t, they say, an’ fenced an’ plantit;But as I min’ ’t, lang syne, I trow,Drain, fence, an’ biel war sairly wantit.Than what is’t gars me ply my penI’ scribblin’ doon this rhymin’ clatter?An’ what is’t mak’s me aye sae fainTo hear or read o’ Corrie water?Atweel it is a simple thingAs ever dreamer wastit time on;Scarce worth the while to say or sing—For this is what I’m boun’ to rhyme on:—The mem’ry o’ a denty quean,I couldna draw a plain-spak’ word frae;Scarce heard ava—no fairly seen—An’ never efter seen or heard frae.A’ day we’d stey’t at Corrie Common,Drinkin’, thrawin’ quoits, an’ jeerin’;An’ doon to Stidriggs, or the gloamin’,Five wil’ chiel’s we gaed careerin’.(Jock Porteous, An’ro Hen’erson,Wull Fergyson, me, Wullie Beaty.Twae, like mysel’, may yet leeve on—The ither twae—Aih me, the pity!)But passin’ by a wee cot-house,Wi’ riggin’ laigh, an’ gable suety,Yin cries oot sae baul’ an’ croose,“Come, boys, c’ way in, an’ licht the cutty!”I’d maist ill tricks a lad can ha’e—An’some I hadna neebors spak’ o’—But naither frien’ nor foe could sayI ever cared to blaw tobacco.An’ in they gaed; but I stood thereBefore the door, a tentless sentry,Till startled by a vision fairGaun jookin’ ben across the entry.Blate—blate an’ backwarts aye I’ve been,An’ niver forrat-ways nor saucy.But where’s the guff at bricht nineteen’At wadna chace a fleein’ lassie?Sae ben I slinkit—hat i’ han’—An’ there, beside the wee bit wunnock,I saw a peerless maiden stan’,Just pantin’ like a hare i’ panic.Wi’ shapely form i’ braw black silk—Lang curls as black’s the silk, an’ blacker—A changefu’ cheek—a throat like milk.An’ lown an’ pawkily I spak’ her.I pled for my companions rouch—I trow’t they couldna mean to fley her:But only heard her breath’s quick souch,For fient a word could I get frae her.I howp’t she didna thinkmerude—Civility I weel intendit;An’, quit I naither wad nor could,But pardon—gin Ihadoffendit.I ventur’t yince to speir her name—I offen askit where she cam’ frae—(That hoosie boodna’ be her hame)An’ thochte I heard ae word likeWamphray.But plague licht on thae rantin’ chiel’s,’At couldna let yin coort i’ quayet,But keepit cryin’—bletherin’ de’ils!—“Hoy! This is no the bit to stey at;Co’ way to Stidriggs!”—sae I gaed,But first the lassie low I herkit,“I’ll come again?” was what I said—An’ nae denial I remerkit.We wan to Stidriggs Bent—but haith!Ourbentwas Stidriggs’ tea an’ toddy;An’ he that wadna roose them baith,Maun be a puir wanwauchtie body.To Whitcastles I should ha’e gaen,But weet!—I’ve seldom seen the like o’ ’t—An’ An’ro swore i’ siccan a rainHe wadna turn a gangrel’s tyke out.Twae close box-beds, to five big chiel’s,Presentit scrimp accommodation;But, “heids an’ thraws, or necks an’ heels,”They’d haud by An’ro’s invitation.As they begood to think o’ bed,An opportunity I grippit,Borrow’t, no askin’, some ane’s plaid,An’ furth into the rain I slippit.An’ though the gate I hardly kent,I’ trustfu’ love’s instinct confidin’,I, darklin’, stayvelt owre the bent,An’ fan’ the cot, but ither guidin’.An’ nearin’ that wee hoose at last,O’ monie a fletherin’ wordie thinkin’,I saw, what gar’t my heart beat fast,A licht frae oot it’s window blinkin’.I keekit through, but nochte could see;A claith was there, half drawn, half drappit;But sure the licht was meen’t for me;—Upon the glass I lichtly chappit.An’ suen I heard the openin’ door;An’ through it’s chink I saftly glidit;But turnin’ on the lichted floor,I saw I’d been sair, sair misguidit—I saw what gar’t my heart stan’ still,An’ set my verra flesh a’ creepin’,While doon my limbs the sweit draps chill,Like thowin’ snaw gaed dreepin’, dreepin’.I’ place o’ braw black silken goon—A bed-goon an’ a drogget coatie;I’ place o’ ringlets clusterin’ doon—A reekit mutch an’ chaft-locks tawtie;I’ place o’ saft lid-droopin’ e’en—Ae wulcat spark—a winkin’ won’er;I’ place o’ lips wi’ bliss atween—Twae gums wad gar a corby scunner;I’ place o’ broo an’ throat o’ sna’An’ bosom fraucht wi’ sweet emotion—A face an’ figur’ ’passin’ a’The gruesomeness o’ earth or ocean.An’ sic a tongue—Gude guide a’ weel!—She lows’t on me—sic fearfu’ flytin’!—I’ sic a voice—half craik, half squeel—Wi’ jeers an’ jibes braid, bitter bitin’.“To gie yin fash,” Rob Burns declared,“An aul’ wife’s tongue’s a feckless matter;”But honest Robin never heardThat aul’ wife’s tongue i’ Corrie water.An’ whan she made a calmer souch,An’ stey’t a wee her skirlin’ ang-er,I heard, far ben, a sweet wee lauch,An’ dowdna thole the ordeal lang-er.I flang the carlin fierce aside,An’ left her up hersel’ to gether;An’, frae her cot, wi’ wrathfu’ stride,I fled to face the midnicht w’ather.An’ back I took my darksome way,By gerse-grown dykes an’ resh-rouch heid rigs;By spretty knowe an’ staney brae,An’, sair forfowch’en, wan to Stidriggs,Where, hingin’ up the borrow’t plaid,An’ owre my queer mischanter smilin’,I took my share o’ ae box-bed,But couldna sleep for thochte’s beguilin’.For whae could yon sweet lassie beThat lauch’t at that aul’ carlin’ scaul’in’?’Twas plain, I’ve said afore, to seeThat cot-hoose couldna be her dwallin’.How cam’ she to be wonnin’ thereI’ that aul’ muirlan’ clay-wa’t biggin?How could a gem sae bricht an’ rareBe treasur’t ’neath its crazy riggin’?It’s mair nor therty year sin syne—That maiden’s aiblins now a grannie—But ’mang the folk I like to min’,I offen see her, skeich an’ bonnie.An’ whiles I’ve thochte that bed she gi’en,An’ keep’t, her word to be sweet-heartit,Like ither sweethearts, she’d ha’e beenFrae mem’ry’s hauld lang, lang depairtit.For weel I wat, fair favours wonHa’e frae men’s minds aye suener slippitNor ochte we’ve set oor hearts upon,An’ triet to grip—but fail’t to grip it.
Of a’ the streams o’ AnnandaleWi’ names embalm’t i’ sang or story,Gin Mylke, for beauty, beer the bell,I think I’d gi’e the mell to Corrie.
Of a’ the streams o’ Annandale
Wi’ names embalm’t i’ sang or story,
Gin Mylke, for beauty, beer the bell,
I think I’d gi’e the mell to Corrie.
It’s “up by Corrie—doon by Dryfe,”(Gin a coortin’ ye wad toddle)“That’s the gate to seek a wife”—(Hoo daft aul’ rhymes bide in yin’s noddle!)
It’s “up by Corrie—doon by Dryfe,”
(Gin a coortin’ ye wad toddle)
“That’s the gate to seek a wife”—
(Hoo daft aul’ rhymes bide in yin’s noddle!)
But sud ye take ye’re way by Corrie,Till ye come gey near to Borelan’,Ye’ll aye see muir an’ bent afore ye—Scarce ochte a’ roon’ but bent an’ muirlan’.
But sud ye take ye’re way by Corrie,
Till ye come gey near to Borelan’,
Ye’ll aye see muir an’ bent afore ye—
Scarce ochte a’ roon’ but bent an’ muirlan’.
“There’s Corrie Lea an’ Corrie Law—Corrie Mains—an’ mowdies hork” there—“Corrie Hill an’ Corrie Ha’-Corrie Common, Corrie Kirk” there.
“There’s Corrie Lea an’ Corrie Law—
Corrie Mains—an’ mowdies hork” there—
“Corrie Hill an’ Corrie Ha’-
Corrie Common, Corrie Kirk” there.
But Corrie Kirk’s nae kirk ava—Corrie Hill’s nae hill to roam on—Snell’s the blast on Corrie Law—Scant the gerse on Corrie Common.
But Corrie Kirk’s nae kirk ava—
Corrie Hill’s nae hill to roam on—
Snell’s the blast on Corrie Law—
Scant the gerse on Corrie Common.
They tell me Corrie’s alter’t now;It’s drain’t, they say, an’ fenced an’ plantit;But as I min’ ’t, lang syne, I trow,Drain, fence, an’ biel war sairly wantit.
They tell me Corrie’s alter’t now;
It’s drain’t, they say, an’ fenced an’ plantit;
But as I min’ ’t, lang syne, I trow,
Drain, fence, an’ biel war sairly wantit.
Than what is’t gars me ply my penI’ scribblin’ doon this rhymin’ clatter?An’ what is’t mak’s me aye sae fainTo hear or read o’ Corrie water?
Than what is’t gars me ply my pen
I’ scribblin’ doon this rhymin’ clatter?
An’ what is’t mak’s me aye sae fain
To hear or read o’ Corrie water?
Atweel it is a simple thingAs ever dreamer wastit time on;Scarce worth the while to say or sing—For this is what I’m boun’ to rhyme on:—
Atweel it is a simple thing
As ever dreamer wastit time on;
Scarce worth the while to say or sing—
For this is what I’m boun’ to rhyme on:—
The mem’ry o’ a denty quean,I couldna draw a plain-spak’ word frae;Scarce heard ava—no fairly seen—An’ never efter seen or heard frae.
The mem’ry o’ a denty quean,
I couldna draw a plain-spak’ word frae;
Scarce heard ava—no fairly seen—
An’ never efter seen or heard frae.
A’ day we’d stey’t at Corrie Common,Drinkin’, thrawin’ quoits, an’ jeerin’;An’ doon to Stidriggs, or the gloamin’,Five wil’ chiel’s we gaed careerin’.
A’ day we’d stey’t at Corrie Common,
Drinkin’, thrawin’ quoits, an’ jeerin’;
An’ doon to Stidriggs, or the gloamin’,
Five wil’ chiel’s we gaed careerin’.
(Jock Porteous, An’ro Hen’erson,Wull Fergyson, me, Wullie Beaty.Twae, like mysel’, may yet leeve on—The ither twae—Aih me, the pity!)
(Jock Porteous, An’ro Hen’erson,
Wull Fergyson, me, Wullie Beaty.
Twae, like mysel’, may yet leeve on—
The ither twae—Aih me, the pity!)
But passin’ by a wee cot-house,Wi’ riggin’ laigh, an’ gable suety,Yin cries oot sae baul’ an’ croose,“Come, boys, c’ way in, an’ licht the cutty!”
But passin’ by a wee cot-house,
Wi’ riggin’ laigh, an’ gable suety,
Yin cries oot sae baul’ an’ croose,
“Come, boys, c’ way in, an’ licht the cutty!”
I’d maist ill tricks a lad can ha’e—An’some I hadna neebors spak’ o’—But naither frien’ nor foe could sayI ever cared to blaw tobacco.
I’d maist ill tricks a lad can ha’e—
An’some I hadna neebors spak’ o’—
But naither frien’ nor foe could say
I ever cared to blaw tobacco.
An’ in they gaed; but I stood thereBefore the door, a tentless sentry,Till startled by a vision fairGaun jookin’ ben across the entry.
An’ in they gaed; but I stood there
Before the door, a tentless sentry,
Till startled by a vision fair
Gaun jookin’ ben across the entry.
Blate—blate an’ backwarts aye I’ve been,An’ niver forrat-ways nor saucy.But where’s the guff at bricht nineteen’At wadna chace a fleein’ lassie?
Blate—blate an’ backwarts aye I’ve been,
An’ niver forrat-ways nor saucy.
But where’s the guff at bricht nineteen
’At wadna chace a fleein’ lassie?
Sae ben I slinkit—hat i’ han’—An’ there, beside the wee bit wunnock,I saw a peerless maiden stan’,Just pantin’ like a hare i’ panic.
Sae ben I slinkit—hat i’ han’—
An’ there, beside the wee bit wunnock,
I saw a peerless maiden stan’,
Just pantin’ like a hare i’ panic.
Wi’ shapely form i’ braw black silk—Lang curls as black’s the silk, an’ blacker—A changefu’ cheek—a throat like milk.An’ lown an’ pawkily I spak’ her.
Wi’ shapely form i’ braw black silk—
Lang curls as black’s the silk, an’ blacker—
A changefu’ cheek—a throat like milk.
An’ lown an’ pawkily I spak’ her.
I pled for my companions rouch—I trow’t they couldna mean to fley her:But only heard her breath’s quick souch,For fient a word could I get frae her.
I pled for my companions rouch—
I trow’t they couldna mean to fley her:
But only heard her breath’s quick souch,
For fient a word could I get frae her.
I howp’t she didna thinkmerude—Civility I weel intendit;An’, quit I naither wad nor could,But pardon—gin Ihadoffendit.
I howp’t she didna thinkmerude—
Civility I weel intendit;
An’, quit I naither wad nor could,
But pardon—gin Ihadoffendit.
I ventur’t yince to speir her name—I offen askit where she cam’ frae—(That hoosie boodna’ be her hame)An’ thochte I heard ae word likeWamphray.
I ventur’t yince to speir her name—
I offen askit where she cam’ frae—
(That hoosie boodna’ be her hame)
An’ thochte I heard ae word likeWamphray.
But plague licht on thae rantin’ chiel’s,’At couldna let yin coort i’ quayet,But keepit cryin’—bletherin’ de’ils!—“Hoy! This is no the bit to stey at;
But plague licht on thae rantin’ chiel’s,
’At couldna let yin coort i’ quayet,
But keepit cryin’—bletherin’ de’ils!—
“Hoy! This is no the bit to stey at;
Co’ way to Stidriggs!”—sae I gaed,But first the lassie low I herkit,“I’ll come again?” was what I said—An’ nae denial I remerkit.
Co’ way to Stidriggs!”—sae I gaed,
But first the lassie low I herkit,
“I’ll come again?” was what I said—
An’ nae denial I remerkit.
We wan to Stidriggs Bent—but haith!Ourbentwas Stidriggs’ tea an’ toddy;An’ he that wadna roose them baith,Maun be a puir wanwauchtie body.
We wan to Stidriggs Bent—but haith!
Ourbentwas Stidriggs’ tea an’ toddy;
An’ he that wadna roose them baith,
Maun be a puir wanwauchtie body.
To Whitcastles I should ha’e gaen,But weet!—I’ve seldom seen the like o’ ’t—An’ An’ro swore i’ siccan a rainHe wadna turn a gangrel’s tyke out.
To Whitcastles I should ha’e gaen,
But weet!—I’ve seldom seen the like o’ ’t—
An’ An’ro swore i’ siccan a rain
He wadna turn a gangrel’s tyke out.
Twae close box-beds, to five big chiel’s,Presentit scrimp accommodation;But, “heids an’ thraws, or necks an’ heels,”They’d haud by An’ro’s invitation.
Twae close box-beds, to five big chiel’s,
Presentit scrimp accommodation;
But, “heids an’ thraws, or necks an’ heels,”
They’d haud by An’ro’s invitation.
As they begood to think o’ bed,An opportunity I grippit,Borrow’t, no askin’, some ane’s plaid,An’ furth into the rain I slippit.
As they begood to think o’ bed,
An opportunity I grippit,
Borrow’t, no askin’, some ane’s plaid,
An’ furth into the rain I slippit.
An’ though the gate I hardly kent,I’ trustfu’ love’s instinct confidin’,I, darklin’, stayvelt owre the bent,An’ fan’ the cot, but ither guidin’.
An’ though the gate I hardly kent,
I’ trustfu’ love’s instinct confidin’,
I, darklin’, stayvelt owre the bent,
An’ fan’ the cot, but ither guidin’.
An’ nearin’ that wee hoose at last,O’ monie a fletherin’ wordie thinkin’,I saw, what gar’t my heart beat fast,A licht frae oot it’s window blinkin’.
An’ nearin’ that wee hoose at last,
O’ monie a fletherin’ wordie thinkin’,
I saw, what gar’t my heart beat fast,
A licht frae oot it’s window blinkin’.
I keekit through, but nochte could see;A claith was there, half drawn, half drappit;But sure the licht was meen’t for me;—Upon the glass I lichtly chappit.
I keekit through, but nochte could see;
A claith was there, half drawn, half drappit;
But sure the licht was meen’t for me;—
Upon the glass I lichtly chappit.
An’ suen I heard the openin’ door;An’ through it’s chink I saftly glidit;But turnin’ on the lichted floor,I saw I’d been sair, sair misguidit—
An’ suen I heard the openin’ door;
An’ through it’s chink I saftly glidit;
But turnin’ on the lichted floor,
I saw I’d been sair, sair misguidit—
I saw what gar’t my heart stan’ still,An’ set my verra flesh a’ creepin’,While doon my limbs the sweit draps chill,Like thowin’ snaw gaed dreepin’, dreepin’.
I saw what gar’t my heart stan’ still,
An’ set my verra flesh a’ creepin’,
While doon my limbs the sweit draps chill,
Like thowin’ snaw gaed dreepin’, dreepin’.
I’ place o’ braw black silken goon—A bed-goon an’ a drogget coatie;I’ place o’ ringlets clusterin’ doon—A reekit mutch an’ chaft-locks tawtie;
I’ place o’ braw black silken goon—
A bed-goon an’ a drogget coatie;
I’ place o’ ringlets clusterin’ doon—
A reekit mutch an’ chaft-locks tawtie;
I’ place o’ saft lid-droopin’ e’en—Ae wulcat spark—a winkin’ won’er;I’ place o’ lips wi’ bliss atween—Twae gums wad gar a corby scunner;
I’ place o’ saft lid-droopin’ e’en—
Ae wulcat spark—a winkin’ won’er;
I’ place o’ lips wi’ bliss atween—
Twae gums wad gar a corby scunner;
I’ place o’ broo an’ throat o’ sna’An’ bosom fraucht wi’ sweet emotion—A face an’ figur’ ’passin’ a’The gruesomeness o’ earth or ocean.
I’ place o’ broo an’ throat o’ sna’
An’ bosom fraucht wi’ sweet emotion—
A face an’ figur’ ’passin’ a’
The gruesomeness o’ earth or ocean.
An’ sic a tongue—Gude guide a’ weel!—She lows’t on me—sic fearfu’ flytin’!—I’ sic a voice—half craik, half squeel—Wi’ jeers an’ jibes braid, bitter bitin’.
An’ sic a tongue—Gude guide a’ weel!—
She lows’t on me—sic fearfu’ flytin’!—
I’ sic a voice—half craik, half squeel—
Wi’ jeers an’ jibes braid, bitter bitin’.
“To gie yin fash,” Rob Burns declared,“An aul’ wife’s tongue’s a feckless matter;”But honest Robin never heardThat aul’ wife’s tongue i’ Corrie water.
“To gie yin fash,” Rob Burns declared,
“An aul’ wife’s tongue’s a feckless matter;”
But honest Robin never heard
That aul’ wife’s tongue i’ Corrie water.
An’ whan she made a calmer souch,An’ stey’t a wee her skirlin’ ang-er,I heard, far ben, a sweet wee lauch,An’ dowdna thole the ordeal lang-er.
An’ whan she made a calmer souch,
An’ stey’t a wee her skirlin’ ang-er,
I heard, far ben, a sweet wee lauch,
An’ dowdna thole the ordeal lang-er.
I flang the carlin fierce aside,An’ left her up hersel’ to gether;An’, frae her cot, wi’ wrathfu’ stride,I fled to face the midnicht w’ather.
I flang the carlin fierce aside,
An’ left her up hersel’ to gether;
An’, frae her cot, wi’ wrathfu’ stride,
I fled to face the midnicht w’ather.
An’ back I took my darksome way,By gerse-grown dykes an’ resh-rouch heid rigs;By spretty knowe an’ staney brae,An’, sair forfowch’en, wan to Stidriggs,
An’ back I took my darksome way,
By gerse-grown dykes an’ resh-rouch heid rigs;
By spretty knowe an’ staney brae,
An’, sair forfowch’en, wan to Stidriggs,
Where, hingin’ up the borrow’t plaid,An’ owre my queer mischanter smilin’,I took my share o’ ae box-bed,But couldna sleep for thochte’s beguilin’.
Where, hingin’ up the borrow’t plaid,
An’ owre my queer mischanter smilin’,
I took my share o’ ae box-bed,
But couldna sleep for thochte’s beguilin’.
For whae could yon sweet lassie beThat lauch’t at that aul’ carlin’ scaul’in’?’Twas plain, I’ve said afore, to seeThat cot-hoose couldna be her dwallin’.
For whae could yon sweet lassie be
That lauch’t at that aul’ carlin’ scaul’in’?
’Twas plain, I’ve said afore, to see
That cot-hoose couldna be her dwallin’.
How cam’ she to be wonnin’ thereI’ that aul’ muirlan’ clay-wa’t biggin?How could a gem sae bricht an’ rareBe treasur’t ’neath its crazy riggin’?
How cam’ she to be wonnin’ there
I’ that aul’ muirlan’ clay-wa’t biggin?
How could a gem sae bricht an’ rare
Be treasur’t ’neath its crazy riggin’?
It’s mair nor therty year sin syne—That maiden’s aiblins now a grannie—But ’mang the folk I like to min’,I offen see her, skeich an’ bonnie.
It’s mair nor therty year sin syne—
That maiden’s aiblins now a grannie—
But ’mang the folk I like to min’,
I offen see her, skeich an’ bonnie.
An’ whiles I’ve thochte that bed she gi’en,An’ keep’t, her word to be sweet-heartit,Like ither sweethearts, she’d ha’e beenFrae mem’ry’s hauld lang, lang depairtit.
An’ whiles I’ve thochte that bed she gi’en,
An’ keep’t, her word to be sweet-heartit,
Like ither sweethearts, she’d ha’e been
Frae mem’ry’s hauld lang, lang depairtit.
For weel I wat, fair favours wonHa’e frae men’s minds aye suener slippitNor ochte we’ve set oor hearts upon,An’ triet to grip—but fail’t to grip it.
For weel I wat, fair favours won
Ha’e frae men’s minds aye suener slippit
Nor ochte we’ve set oor hearts upon,
An’ triet to grip—but fail’t to grip it.