The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes - Volume 2 by George MacDonald (red queen ebook .TXT) 📖

gruesome carline,
I s' hand weel ootby!"

"Lang be licht o' hert, Mally,
As o' fut and ban'! Lang be ready wi' sic answer
To ony speirin man!"

"Ay, the men 'll aye be speirin!
Troth, it's naething new! There's yersel wi' queston, queston-
And there's mair like you!"

"Deed ye wadna mock me, Mally,
Wi' yer lauchin ee, Gien ye saw the thing aye muvin
I' the hert o' me!"

"Troth, I'm no sae pryin, laddie,
Yon's no my concern! Jist as sune I wud gang speirin
What's intil yon cairn!"

"Still and on, there's ae thing, Mally,
Yont yer help, my doo- That's to haud my hert frae lo'in
At the hert o' you!"

II.

Johnnie turned and left her,
Listit for the war; In a year cam limpin
Hame wi' mony a scar.

Wha was that was sittin
On the brae, sae still? Worn and wan and altert,
Could it be hersel?

Cled in black, her eelids
Reid wi' greitin sair- Was she wife and widow
In a towmond bare?

Mally's hert played wallop,
Kenned him or he spak: "Are ye no deid, Johnnie?
Is't yersel come back?"

"Are ye wife or widow?
Tell me in a breath; Lanely life is fearsome,
Waur nor ony death!"

"Wha cud be a widow
Wife was never nane? Noo, gien ye will hae me,
Noo I will be ane!"

Crutch awa he flang it,
Clean forgot his hairms, Cudna stan' withoot it,
Fell in Mally's airms.


GAEIN AND COMIN .

Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed
The lift was lowerin dreary, The sun he wadna raise his heid,
The win' blew laich and eerie. In's pooch he had a plack or twa-
I vow he hadna mony, Yet Andrew like a linty sang,
For Lizzie was sae bonny!
O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny lassie!
Bonny, saucy hizzy!
What richt had ye to luik at me
And drive me daft and dizzy?

Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam
The sun was shinin rarely; He rade a horse that pranced and sprang-
I vow he sat him fairly! And he had gowd to spen' and spare,
And a hert as true as ony; But his luik was doon, his sigh was sair,
For Lizzie was sae bonny!
O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzy!
Aih, the sunlicht weary!
Ye're straucht and rare-ye're fause though fair!-
Hech, auld John Armstrong's deary!


A SANG O' ZION .

Ane by ane they gang awa; The getherer gethers grit and sma': Ane by ane maks ane and a'!

Aye whan ane sets doon the cup Ane ahint maun tak it up: A' thegither they will sup!

Golden-heidit, ripe, and strang, Shorn will be the hairst or lang: Syne begins a better sang!


TIME AND TIDE .

As I was walkin on the strand,
I spied ane auld man sit
On ane auld black rock; and aye the waves
Cam washin up its fit.
His lips they gaed as gien they wad lilt,
But o' liltin, wae's me, was nane!
He spak but an owercome, dreary and dreigh,
A burden wha's sang was gane: "Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns;
They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns,
And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush."

"What can the auld man mean," quod I,
"Sittin o' the auld black rock?
The tide creeps up wi' a moan and a cry,
And a hiss 'maist like a mock!
The words he mutters maun be the en'
O' some weary auld-warl' sang-
A deid thing floatin aboot in his brain,
'At the tide 'ill no lat gang!" "Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns;
They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns,
And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush."

"Hoo pairtit it them, auld man?" I said;
"Was't the sea cam up ower strang?
Oh, gien thegither the twa o' them gaed
Their pairtin wasna lang!
Or was are ta'en, and the ither left-
Ane to sing, are to greit?
It's sair, I ken, to be sae bereft-
But there's the tide at yer feet!" "Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns,
And they playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns,
And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush."

"Was't the sea o' space wi' its storm o' time
That wadna lat things bide?
But Death's a diver frae heavenly clime
Seekin ye neth its tide,
And ye'll gaze again in ither's ee,
Far abune space and time!"
Never ae word he answered me,
But changed a wee his rime: "Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns,
And they playt thegither upo' the shore; Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns,
And pairtit the twa for evermore."

"May be, auld man, 'twas the tide o' change
That crap atween the twa?
Hech! that's a droonin fearsome strange,
Waur, waur nor are and a'!"
He said nae mair. I luikit, and saw
His lips they couldna gang:
Death, the diver, had ta'en him awa,
To gie him a new auld sang. Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns,
And they playt thegither upo' the shore: Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns,
And souft them awa throu a mirksome door!


THE WAESOME CARL .

There cam a man to oor toon-en',
And a waesome carl was he, Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd,
And gleyt o' a blinterin ee. Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak,
But the owercome o' his sang, Whatever it said, was aye the same:-
There's nane o' ye a' but's wrang!
Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang,
And a'thegither a' wrang:
There's no a man aboot the toon
But's a'thegither a' wrang.

That's no the gait to fire the breid,
Nor yet to brew the yill; That's no the gait to haud the pleuch,
Nor yet to ca the mill; That's no the gait to milk the coo,
Nor yet to spean the calf, Nor yet to tramp the girnel-meal-
Ye kenna yer wark by half!
Ye're a' wrang, &c.

The minister wasna fit to pray
And lat alane to preach; He nowther had the gift o' grace
Nor yet the gift o' speech! He mind't him o' Balaäm's ass,
Wi' a differ we micht ken: The Lord he opened the ass's mou,
The minister opened's ain!
He was a' wrang, and a' wrang,
And a'thegither a' wrang;
There wasna a man aboot the toon
But was a'thegither a' wrang!

The puir precentor couldna sing,
He gruntit like a swine; The verra elders couldna pass
The ladles til his min'. And for the rulin' elder's grace
It wasna worth a horn; He didna half uncurse the meat,
Nor pray for mair the morn!
He was a' wrang, &c.

And aye he gied his nose a thraw,
And aye he crook't his mou; And aye he cockit up his ee
And said, Tak tent the noo! We snichert hint oor loof, my man,
But never said him nay; As gien he had been a prophet, man,
We loot him say his say:
Ye're a' wrang, &c.

Quo oor gudeman: The crater's daft!
Heard ye ever sic a claik? Lat's see gien he can turn a ban',
Or only luik and craik! It's true we maunna lippin til him-
He's fairly crack wi' pride, But he maun live-we canna kill him!
Gien he can work, he s' bide.
He was a' wrang, and a' wrang,
And a'thegither a' wrang;
There, troth, the gudeman o' the toon
Was a'thegither a' wrang!

Quo he, It's but a laddie's turn,
But best the first be a sma' thing: There's a' thae weyds to gether and burn,
And he's the man for a' thing!- We yokit for the far hill-moss,
There was peats to cast and ca; O' 's company we thoucht na loss,
'Twas peace till gloamin-fa'!
We war a' wrang, and a' wrang,
And a'thegither a' wrang;
There wasna man aboot the toon
But was a'thegither a' wrang!

For, losh, or it was denner-time
The toon was in a low! The reek rase up as it had been
Frae Sodom-flames, I vow. We lowst and rade like mad, for byre
And ruck bleezt a' thegither, As gien the deil had broucht the fire
Frae's hell to mak anither!
'Twas a' wrang, and a' wrang,
And a'thegither a' wrang,
Stick and strae aboot the place
Was a'thegither a' wrang!

And luikin on, ban's neth his tails,
The waesome carl stude; To see him wagglin at thae tails
'Maist drave 's a' fairly wud. Ain wite! he cried; I tauld ye sae!
Ye're a' wrang to the last: What gart ye burn thae deevilich weyds
Whan the win' blew frae the wast!
Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang,
And a'thegither a' wrang;
There's no a man i' this fule warl
But's a'thegither a' wrang!


THE MERMAID .

Up cam the tide wi' a burst and a whush,
And back gaed