Classic Poem

There cam' a strange wight to our town en',
An' the fient a body did him ken;
He tirled na lang, but he glided ben,
Wi' a weary, dreary hum.

His face did glow like the glow o' the west,
When the drumly cloud has it half o'ercast;
Or the struggling moon when she's sair distrest,
O, sirs! 'twas Aiken-drum.

I trow the bauldest stood aback,
Wi' a gape an' a glower till their lugs did crack,
As the shapeless phantom mumblin' spak'—
“Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum?”

O! had ye seen the bairns' fright
As they stared at the wild and unearthly wight:
As they skulkit in 'tween the dark an' the light,
And graned out “Aiken-drum!”

“Sauf us!” quoth Joek, “d'ye see sic een?”
Cries Kate, “There's a hole where a nose should ha' been:
An' the mouth's like a gash that a horn had ri'en;
Wow! keep 's frae Aiken-drum!”

The black dog growlin' cowered his tail,
The lassie swarfed, loot fa' the pail;
Rob's lingle brak as he men't the flail,
At the sight o' Aiken-drum.

His matted head on his breast did rest,
A lang blue beard wander'd down like a vest;
But the glare o' his e'e hath nae bard exprest,
Nor the skimes o' Aiken-drum.

Round his hairy form there was naething seen,
But a philabeg o' the rashes green,
An' his knotted knees played aye knoit between—
What a sight was Aiken-drum!

On his wauchie airms three claws did meet,
As they trailed on the grun' by his taeless feet;
E'en the auld gudeman himsel' did sweat,
To look at Aiken-drum.

But he drew a score, himsel' did sain,
The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane;
While the young ane closer clasped her wean,
An' turned frae Aiken-drum.

But the cantie auld wife cam' till her breath,
An' she thocht the Bible might ward aff scaith,
Be it banshee, bogle, ghaist, or wraith—
But it feared na Aiken-drum.

“His presence protect us!” quoth the auld gudeman;
“What wad ye, whare won ye, by sea or lan'?
I conjure ye—speak—by the beuk in my han'!”
What a grane ga'e Aiken-drum!

“I lived in a land whare we saw nae sky,
I dwalt in a spot whare a burn rins na by;
But I'se dwall now wi' you gin ye like to try—
Hae ye wark for Aiken-drum?

“I'll shiel a' your sheep i' the mornin' sune,
I'll berry your crap by the light o' the mune,
An' ba' the bairns wi' an unkent tune,
If ye'll keep puir Aiken-drum.

“I'll lowp the linn when ye canna wade,
I'll kirn the kirn, an' I'll turn the bread,
An' the wildest filly that ever ran rede,
I'se tame 't,” quoth Aiken-drum.

“To wear the tod frae the flock on the fell,
To gather the dew frae the heather bell,
An' to look at my face in your clear chrystal well,
Might gi'e pleasure to Aiken-drum.

“I'se seek nae guids, gear, bond, nor mark;
I use nae beddin', shoon, nor sark;
But a cogfu' o' brose 'tween the light an' the dark,
Is the wage o' Aiken-drum.”

Quoth the wily auld wife, “The thing speaks weel;
Our workers are scant—we hae routh o' meal;
Gif he'll do as he says—be he man, be he deil—
Wow! we'll try this Aiken-drum.”

But the wenches skirl'd, “He's no be here!
His eldrich look gars us swarf wi' fear;
An' the fient a ane will the house come near,
If they think but o' Aiken-drum.

“For a foul an' a stalwart ghaist is he,
Despair sits broodin' abune his e'e-bree,
And unchancie to light on a maiden's e'e,
Is the glower o' Aiken-drum.”

“Puir clipmalabors! ye hae little wit;
Is'tna Hallowmas now, an' the crap out yet?”
Sae she silenced them a' wi' a stamp o' her fit—
“Sit yer wa's down, Aiken-drum!”

Round a' that side what wark was dune
By the streamer's gleam, or the glance o' the mune;
A word, or a wish, an' the brownie cam' sune,
Sae helpfu' was Aiken-drum.

But he slade aye awa or the sun was up,
He ne'er could look straught on Macmillan's cup;
They watch'd—but nane saw him his brose ever sup,
Nor a spune sought Aiken-drum.

On Blednoch banks, an' on chrystal Cree,
For mony a day a toiled wight was he;
And the bairns they played harmless roun' his knee,
Sae social was Aiken-drum.

But a new-made wife, fu' o' frippish freaks,
Fond o' a' things feat for the five first weeks,
Laid a mouldy pair o' her ain man's breeks
By the brose o' Aiken-drum.

Let the learned decide when they convene,
What spell was him an' the breeks between;
For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen,
An' sair miss'd was Aiken-drum.

He was heard by a herd gaun by the Thrieve,
Crying, “Lang, lang now may I greet an' grieve;
For, alas! I ha'e gotten baith fee an' leave—
O! luckless Aiken-drum!”

Awa', ye wrangling sceptic tribe,
Wi' your pros an' your cons wad ye decide
'Gain the sponsible voice o' a hale countryside,
On the facts 'bout Aiken-drum?

Though the Brownie o' Blednoch lang be gane,
The mark o' his feet's left on mony a stane;
An' mony a wife an' mony a wean
Tell the feats o' Aiken-drum.

E'en now, light loons that jibe an' sneer
At spiritual guests an' a' sic gear,
At the Glashnoch Mill hae swat wi' fear,
An' look'd roun' for Aiken-drum.

An' gudely folks hae gotten a fright,
When the mune was set, an' the stars gied nae light;
At the roarin' linn, in the howe o' the night,
Wi' sughs like Aiken-drum.