Classic Poem

He fell at Loos: and when she heard
The tidings, though she did not stir,
Some light within her at the word
Was darkened, and it seemed to her
Death sought to snatch her bairn from her —
To snatch her sucking babe from her:

And she forgot that he had grown
A hefty lad to be her pride,
A shepherd for skilled piping known
Throughout the hilly Borderside
Until death took him from her side,
No more to seek his minney's side.

By day or night she cannot rest —
Stravaging over Auchopecairn
She clutches to her naked breast
An old clout-dolly like a bairn,
And moans — My bairn, my hinney bairn!
Death shall not have my wee bit bairn!