Classic Poem

" OH , saw ye e'er sic witless bairns,
Sic wasterie o' blessin's gi'en?
Oh, had they dree'd what we ha'e dree'd,
Oh, had they seen what we ha'e seen!

" See hoo they break the gude ait-cake,
An' spit the moolins oot their mou';
They're lucky fu', an' lucky het,
An' lucky near the mill, I trow. "

Sae spak' my gutcher, roun' his chair
His ain gran' bairns were makin' fun,
Aft teddin' frae their careless hauns
Their bits o' pieces on the grun'.

" Gude bless the bairns, " my grannie said,
Syne, turnin' frae her spinnin' wheel,
She drew her creepie near the fire —
" I ken, gudeman, ye lo'e them weel.

" Sair was the dool that we ha'e dree'd,
An' sair the sichts that we ha'e seen,
But we ha'e been preserv'd thro' a' —
Praise to His blessed name be gi'en!

" That waefu' year I'll ne'er forget,
Ay, tho' it's unco lang sinsyne;
That year ye'll min' fu' weel yersel',
The seventeen hunner thretty-nine.

" The craps had fail'd for towmonds twa;
The meal was dear an' next to nane
For love or siller cou'd ye get,
Tho' owre braid Scotlan' ye had gane.

" Aul' Scotlan' owre her thistle grat —
Noo that her mutchkin stoup was dry —
For meal pocks toom an' aumries bare
An' starvin' bairnies' waefu' cry.

" The frost lay a' that winter thro';
The yird was hard as ony stane;
An' famine to the cottars cam',
An' crined them doon to skin an' bane.

" My faither's girnel wasna toom;
We aye had something to the fore;
But oh! the starvin' wives an' bairns
That aften wannert roun' the door!

" The milky syn'ings o' the kirn,
The scartin's o' the parritch pat,
The bairns wad lick frae 'tween the stanes,
As they upon their groufs lay flat.

" An' turnip taps an' green kail blades
Were gather'd up an' carried hame —
Whan boil'd the mithers were richt glad
Wi' sic like things to fill their wame.

" The spring was dreigh an' bitter cauld,
The trees were lang ere they were clad,
The wonner was hoo puir folk leev't,
An' hoo their bairns were warm'd an' fed.

" Ae day I wanner't to the wud,
An' gather't sticks the fire to beet;
An' there an unco sicht I saw,
That made me baith to glow'r an' greet.

" I'se warran' there were hauf-a-score
O' hunger-stricken wives an' weans,
Thrang pu'in' frae the bare dykeside
Young nettles, spite o' stingin' pains.

" An' branches o' the beech wi' leaves
But haulflins spread they strippit bare,
I saw them eat the leaves wi' greed,
An' gi'e them to their weanies there.

" An' aft, whan neither bite nor sowp
The parents could their bairnies gi'e,
They wad contrive some slee bit ploy
To stap their cravin's for a wee.

" My faither's neebor, Robin Steel —
His wife an' him ye'll min', gudeman? —
Ae nicht their bairns were greetin' sair,
Till Robin thocht him o' a plan.

" A wecht he fill'd wi' dry peat ase
Amang the whilk some pease he mix'd —
In that the bairns wad graip an' wale,
Till sleep their weary e'en had fix'd.

" The cottar faither, weak wi' want,
Wad stacher to the farmer's ha',
A scone or twa the wife wad gi'e,
If she had ocht to spare ava

" Then tears ran doun his pykit cheeks,
An' he wad thank her wi' his e'en,
But ne'er a bit o't crossed his craig
Till it was dealt at hame, I ween.

" Oh, mony a bairn fell frae the breast,
An' lay upon the mither's knee
Like some wee wallow't lily flouir,
Till death wad kin'ly close its e'e.

" An' mony a puir auld man an' wife
That winter dee't wi' want an' cauld,
They couldna beg, an' sae their need
To neebors puir was never tauld.

" Oor Scottish puir had aye some pride —
An honest, decent pride, I ween;
Sair want an' sufferin' they thol't
Ere they wad let their need be seen

" That randy quean, Job's graceless wife,
Wha bade him curse his God an' dee —
Auld Scotlan' wad ha'e cuff'd her lugs
Had she been here advice to gi'e.

" Yet there was mony a stricken heart,
Whase faith an' hope were like to fail;
But aye some word in season cam'
To mak' the wounded speerit hale.

" An' ye micht hear, baith e'en an' morn,
In mony a hame the voice o' prayer,
Though ne'er a peat to beet the fire,
Or bread to fill the mou' was there.

" Ae day, I slipp'd my parritch cog
Aneath my jupe, an' ran wi' speed
To Robin Steel's, for sair I fear'd
That they had neither meal nor bread.

" The mither took it in her haun
An' liftit up to Heaven her e'e,
An' thankit God for what was gi'en
Ere she wad let the bairnies pree.

" That mither — ay, an' mony mair
That thro' the fiery trials pass'd —
Like silver seven times purified,
Cam' oot the furnace pure at last.

" An' noo, gudeman, I'll haud my tongue,
I needna noo say muckle mair;
But pray that Scotlan' ne'er again
May see sic times — sae sad an' sair. "