Poems

Front matter

by

"THE IRISH GIRL."

AYR:

Life's Reverses

Bent silent an' sad, gi'en the embers a steer, Aye stiflin' the deep sigh, an' dichtin' the tear. Is't the gusty wind flings back the door wi' a daud? Na, it's Tam, wi' a burden o' sticks frae the wood. Puir wee callen, ye shake frae the head to the feet, Your thin claes repel na the blast an' the sleet, An' your een's a' begratten, sae chillin' the storm— Fling on some boughs, Jessie, your brither to warm. Laith the frost-laden sprays seem to kindle ava, Lang an' dreich noucht was heard but the fizzin' o SNaw; At last, wi' a crackin', up louped the glad lowe, Till gleams played like sunlicht on ilka wan brow. "I'nt that fine!" said wee Tam, as he crouched to the heat, "How nice it would ready a morsel o' meat!" The dark een o' Jess were raised thouchtfu' an' sad To the face o' her mither, an' that o' the lad, When she risin' exclaimed, wi' attempt at a smile, "Weel, Tam, we'll hae something to eat in a while. I'll awa' to the leddy wha lives at the ha', Axn' be hame again, mither, before the nicht fa'. She was pleased wi' the wark I did for her, ye ken, But had na' sma'siller to pay me a' then; A balance remains, just a trifle, 'tis true, But surely 'tis needed, an' honestly due; She'll aiblins think seekin' it noo is na rieht, But she kens na the mis'ry that craves it this nicht." Wi' a shudder the mither gazed out at the storm, At her puir hungry bairns, at her dauchter's slight form:

"I canna think, Jessie, o' lettin' ye gang, The snaw fa's sae thick, an' the journey's sae lang." "But I can gang wi' her," said Tam, "for I ken A' the short cuts that bring ye fu' soon through the glen; Sae dinna be frichted, but keep the fire bricht, An' ye'll see the gude supper we'll a' hae the nicht." A big tear rose up frae the widow's fond heart As she saw in the tempest her twa bairns depart, Jessie's face looked sae white 'neath her thick raven hair— Puir thing! spite o' hardships, sae peerlessly fair. A prayer trembled forth frae her heart's deep recess, For strength to bear up 'neath ilk croundin' distress. "Oh, Michty!" she cried, "but Thy dealings are strange, Wha e'er would hae dreamed o' this pitifu' change— Fae comfort an' plenty clashed down to the dust, Nor a frien' in the wide world to gie us a crust!" Through her thin tremblin' fingers tears trickled like rain, As she bowed down her pale face an' grat like a wean; But that gush through wae's flood-gates her fu' heart relieved, An' broucht a sad calm to the sairly bereaved. Tears trickled nae mair, but she raised na her een, Life's hale panorama passed scene after scene:— Noo, slowly an' brichtly, a hame meets her sicht, Nae cloud o' adversity darkens its licht;

He is there wha ne'er saw a frien' poverty sad, But he slipped him the wherewith to mak' his heart glad— Her ain darlin' Jamie, sae blythe an' sae braw, Is there as he was, ere death bore him awa'. They are in the aunld hamestead, a's joy 'neath the roof, Nae want's there familiar, nae frien' stan's aloof: 'Tis a beautiful picture, that glimpse o' the past, But Maggie dispels a' the sunshine at last. The bairn sat selectin' ilk tiny bit bough, Gazin' noo at her mither, noo feedin' the lowe, When quo she, as a thocht filled her ponderin' head, "When the ravens cry, mither, wha gies them their bread?" 'Tis He, my wee Maggie, wha cares for us a', Without wha's permission a sparrow can't fa'." "Weel, He'll pity us tue, gin He looks down to see Puir Jessie an' Tam, an' puir mither an' me." "Frae babes an' frae sucklin's what wisdom we learn! Your words hae consoled my puir bosom, my bairn; Your een's unco heavy, lean down ye'r wee head, An' I'll wak ye, my pet, gin they come wi' the bread." The bairn in sweet slumber forgets a' her care, But how dolefu' an' weary the mither sits there!

Down the glen stan's a biggin', a gran' stately ha', Wi' porches o' marble, an' steps like the snaw, Wha's inmates ken nocht o' the hunger an' care That fa's to the lot o' the freenless an' puir;

Nae nippin' blast blaws through their costly array, An' their boardis spread sumptuously every day. Thitherward our twa trav'llers direc'ed their feet, Noo sinkin' in snaw-drift, noo blin' wi' the sleet, Wi' limbs amaist frozen, scarce able to stan'; At the door o' the area, the front seems too gran', They timidly chappit, but cook didna hear, For the snaw-laden blast whistled loudly an' drear. Then they knocked loud and louder, an' shiver'd an' stood, Till she half ope'd the door, in nae mitherly mood. "Gang awa, clatty things," she roared out, "gang awa, Ye canna be ser'd—comin' here i' the snaw, Garrin' folks ope the door till it drifts in their face;" And she dauded it tae wi' a tarmigent grace. Dumfounder'd they stood, wi' her words in their ear, No a tongue could they move, no a fit could they steer, Till Tam faltered out, wi' his teeth chatt'rin' sair, "Ah, Jessie, but puir folks hae muckle to bear,— She tak's us for beggars come seekin' our bread." "Whist, Tam; dinna say that; it gars my heart bleeds Come roun' to the front an' we'll ring the ha' bell, And say that our errand's to the leddy hersel'." Embaulden'd by feelin' they saucht but their due, The orphans stood ringin' with courage anew. A lacquay tripped licht ower the carpeted flair, Wi' gowd lace on his doublet an' oil on his hair;

Like Cookie, far ben in the shelter he stood, But speered what they wanted in accent no rude. "Please to see the young leddy a journey we've ta'en." "Well, I'm sorry," said he, "that your journey is vain," "Sir," said Jess, growing faint, "she's frae hame, then, I ween?" "No, she's here, but our leddies are not to be seen." "But she saw me ae day, when I brocht hame her dress:" "She'll no be seen noo, lassie, nevertheless." "No be seen!" she exclaimed, wi' a look o' despair, Then aiblins ye'll tak' the bit message up stair." The valet seem touched, for he said with a sigh, "Ah! that's no allowed, yet come ben an' I'll try." Fu' gratefu' the pair to the mat stepped ben, An' the cause o' their journey few words let him ken; In hope an' suspense there we lea' them to stan', And up to his leddy we follow the man. On a carpeted landin', wi' doors on ilk side, He paused, chappit saftly, then opened ane wide; The splendour within would maist dazzle your een, Sic ease and sic comfort on a' sides were seen. Nae winter was there, nae cheeks blenched wi' the cauld; Nae wame gnawed by hunger neath garbs thin and auld; Ilk group looked as warm as 'twas summers saft prime, A' thrang at amusements to try an' kill time;

A gran' Turkey carpet, sae bossy an' bricht, Looked as though it would sink to feet never so licht, Wi' its rich gleamin' scarlet spread warm ower the flair, A saft velvet covered ilk sofa and chair; The very wa' paper seemed fu' 0' sun-rays, As the big fire flung roun' it the licht o' its blaze. On this sofa twa matrons wi' head to head bent, Had a crack tae themsels o' a likely event; The ane was the hostess, the ither a frien', Wha protested she felt muckle pleasure yestreen Tae see their rich guest, the young artist an' squire, Sae ta'en ap wi' Clara, wham a' maun admire— He would be sic a gran' an' desirable match Whom sae many mamma's trigged their dauchters to catch. Round that table a party sat silent, yet thrang At the cards they were pushin' the moment's alang; Whilst halflins reclined on a saft crimson seat, Wi' a footstool supportin' her silk slippered feet, Leaned Miss Clara, as absent as ane in a trance, Sae engrossed ower the page o' a thrilling romance. How the tokens o' sympathy maist dimmed her sight As the ideal heroine's waes cam to licht; But when John stood respectfu', and waited a wee, Till up frae the novel she lifted her e'e, An' delivered the true child o' suff'rin's request, Naucht but sense o' annoyance awoke in her breast, As wi' indolent movement an' look a' displeased, Quo she, "You know, John, we are not to be teased;

Tell the girl she must just step out some other day When ma's more at leisure, and guests gone away;" An' liftin' the buik, she continued, "What fash Those poor people give for a trifle of cash!" But wha caucht her last words she wasna aware; She fancied the valet aye sauntering there, An' looked up wi' a frown, which the same moment iled, An' a smile bricht as mornin' appeared in its stead; But the answerin' beam in the een didna shine O' the squire, wha's grave glances she couldna define. A true son o genius in talent and heart Was he, his saul's poetry a' in his airt. A scene a' but leevin' on canvass he'd spread— The Mount, the sad Cross, and immaculate dead; There grouped the disciples the Saviour around, There stood the three Mary's in anguish profound. A sad upturned visage he saught to invest Wi' a sorrow mair holy, mair deep than the rest: "To my virgin mair angelic sadness maun fa," Mutter'd he as he carelessly passed through the ha', When the young face o' Jessie, wha's features sae pure, Bore the impress o' a' she was doomed to endure, Caught his e'e, an' rivetted his feet to the flair. The mournfu' Madona a' perfect was there, The hair shading' saftly the sorrowfu' broo, The een raised sae anxious, the sma' chisel'd mou'— Aye could he hae glowered, but rememb'rin' 'twas rude, His way up the stair he fu' thoughtfu' pursued.

There the crack o' Miss Clara, which ser'd to explain The puir lassie's errand, his heart filled wi' pain; Weel she kenn'd wi' kind feeling it gushed to the brim, Sae she played aff the amiable aye afore him; She had gi'en, wi' his knowledge, much siller awa, But if he o'erheard her just now 'twould spoil a'. "What a storm!" she exclaimed, as a fierce rattlin' shower O' hail struck the window wi' fury an' power. "How thankfu' should those be," returned the young squire, "Wha's hame's fu' o' comforts, wha's seat's by the fire." "True," sighed out Miss Clara wi' sanctified air, "I'm glad my donation is gane to the puir." "I pity," quo he, "in that tempest an' snaw, The pair things that waited sae lang in the ha'; Necessity must, in a desperate form, Hae driven them here in that pitiless storm." She then stammered out, wi' a hem an' a ha, At sewing the girl was employed by mamma. The squire noo resolved, soon as morn had returned, To mak' the hame glad where the needy ones mourned. But that nicht's awfu' suff'rin', an' nameless distress, Tae the wand'rin' an' weary, what words wad express, As in silence, wi' bosoms pitch-black wi' despair, They dolefully faced the wild tempest ance mair— Nae strength to resist the fierce breath o' the gale, Nae happin' to shield frae ilk volley o' hail;

It broucht the dark hour o' their wish an' their dread, When as paupers they'd crave workhouse shelter and bread; Yet tears e'en on Maggie's wee cheek were na seen, A passive despair filled their languishin' e'en, As in silence they bided the hour drawin' nigh When the starvin' to guardians must humbly apply; They wished the ordeal o' entrin' was past, That e'en there they were hid wi' their misery at last. A hasty rat tat at the door gars them start, For oh! unco feeble an' nervous each heart. Jess, white as a sheet, scarce can gang ower the flair, The door she unsnecks—tis the postman is there. The back o' a great muckle letter he scans, As he mutters, "This comes through a wheen o' posts' hands; It's maist covered ower wi' 'no here,' and 'no there,' But aiblins frae this it will travel nae mair: Does there bide here ane Margaret Thamson, or Lee?" "Yes," answered the widow, a' tremblin', "that' me." "A's richt," quo the post, an' turned quick on his heel, As Jess took the letter, and glower'd at the seal. "No to me," quo the mither, "don't gie it to me, My head's turned that licht no a blink could I see, What on airth is't about, or wha can it be frae, It's surely no bringing mair grief than we hae?" Jess broke ope the seal, the contents she outspread, First unfauldin' a stamp'd sheet a' prented wi' red.

"Is it for us ava?" quo she, raisin' her e'en, "It's a bank draught for hunthers—see, what can it mean?" "First the letter that's wi' it, Jess, woman, read through," Quo the mither, noo dichtin' the sweet frae her broo'. Wi' deep agitation, and mony a pause, Jessie read out the letter, ilk line, and ilk clause. "Read again," quo the mither, "I'm no worth a preen," An' the wee lass an' callen glower'd a' mouth an' e'en.. Frae a lawyer the widow was made understan' That her uncle had died in a far foreign lan'. Many years he had been a rich settler there, Was rowin' in gowd, but no blest wi' an heir; Had been married to ane wha a queen micht be styled. Wha had left him abundance o" gear, but nae child. Though lang he'd forgotten baith kintry an' kin, When nature gi'ed warnin' o' death's comin' in, Hame feelin's, long dormant, revived in his breast, Sae he willed tae his brither's bairns a' he possessed. The Deeds to a popular lawyer were sent, Wha to find out the parties was deeply intent. Frae their hame o' lang syne tae his letter arrived A reply, that but ane o' the Thamson's survived; A dauchter, named Maggie, tae ane Lee was wed, Wha gi'ed back in the warld ere he dee'd, it was said, An' left her in some ither part, 'twould appear, Wi' a wheen o' sma' bairnies, on naithin' to rear. To fin' oot this widow a' airts were employed, The virtue o paragraphs often was tried;

At length wi' success his exertions were crowned, And his letter in safety the Widow Lee found. "I've had boldness," he added, "this small sum to send, In hopes it will, meantime, serve some little end; At your early appointment a journey I'll take, Explanations to give, and arrangements to make; Meantime, my dear madam, I'd have you aware, You are whole and sole heiress to a millionaire."

What wonder sic news made them dizzy a wee, An' wag liken to put their puir senses agee. "Rin ower to the huxter wife, Tam, my wee man, An' say she's to come and speak quick as she can." Wi' vague sense o' guid fortune Tam ran a' his micht, Wond'rin' where was the siller, for nane met his sicht. "Please, mistress, my mither says come ower and speak;" "Na, na," said the huxter wife, "trust she would seek— Gang hame again, laddie, and tell her I said No a plack's worth she'll get till the last laif is paid." "Did ye e'er ken the like 0't," said she, "a' yer life?" Addressing her words to a customer wife. "The callen looks hunger'd," the woman replied. "I'se warrant he's that, or the neighbours hae lied; That his mither has unco bad health tae they've learn'd, Bat I canna for ilka sick wife feel concerned." The customer thoughtfully counted her gear, Paid her groceries, exclaiming, "A shilling's yet here;

Guid kens I hae plenty o' sin on my head Without haen it to spare, an' folks starvin' for bread; Gae's some things to mak' the puir bodies some tea, Baith sickness and poortith is sair, sair to dree." The victuals were boucht, an' the wife let her ken Where they lived, and the kindhearted woman went ben, Wi' many excuses for makin' sae bauld, Her errand she gently began to unfold. "Noo dinna be angry, guid people," said she, No ane kens this heartless world better than me; I hae had muckle trial, and may meet wi' mair, Yet at times I hae thought I had double my share." The guid woman's kindness was gratefully ta'en, She'd come as a frien', an' a frien' should remain; Her clean checket brat was raised aft to her een, As they spak' o' the hardships an' misery they'd seen; But when they related the change o' affairs, Her joy and surprise seemed as boundless as theirs. She noticed the weak'ning effects o' their fast, An' nimbly she readied the cheering repast. "Noo I'm longin', quo she, "to rin ower the way, And tell the auld huxter wife all that's adae; Oh! woman, her heart is sae flinty an" proud, Disdainin' the puir an' just worshippin' gowd; 'Twill vex her I ken—sae good bye, folks, good bye, An' I'm sure I gang hame wi' a heart fu' o' joy." The huxter's first impulse on hearin' the fac' Was a heap o' shop guids in a napkin to pack;

But her blythesome informant to that put a stop, Sayin', "Guidwife, they could noo buy yoursel an' your shop," As she stepped out enjoying the huxter's chagrin, Wha on her ain sel' loudly vented her spleen." "Oh! ye luckless auld vixen, ye'r aye far ahin' When aucht o' guid fortune is blawn i' the win'; Could ye no hae gane ower wi' the lad when he speer'd? But for losin' a bawbee ye're aye unco fear'd. Stupid body! wi' spite I could ding aff my head, Tae think what I've lost, a' for ae laif o' bread. Had I gane to the wife in a civil like way There's no kennin' what micht hae happened the day. Worth thoosands! she says—I could wager my life The shillin's the makin' o' that neighbour wife; But wha would hae thoucht it was comin' to that, To hae seen the half-naked, half-starved lookin' brat— Indeed, had I kent what was comin' to pass, Uncivil I would na hae been to the lass." Then she tried frae the thocht consolation to draw, That aiblins the news was a' clash after a'. Meantime the Ha' carriage pu'd up at the Lees', Miss Clara a' nicht had felt puirly at ease— No that pangs o' remorse in her bosom had share, For the waes o' the needy she'd ne'er learnt to care— To dismiss a pair boddie wi' "ca' back again," Was a thing too familiar to awake aucht o' pain,— Yet she felt that the action, like some luckless spell, Garr'd the squire wi' reserve-quite envelope himsel';

And,' tho' boilin' wi' spleen at the course she maun tak To keep in his graces, an' favour win back— For the game's sudden motion her confidence shook, Tho' sae close to her angle, 'twas no on the hook,— Sae wi' voice o' compassion, as breakfast had closed, A drive to the village wi' haste she proposed; "The business is urgent and needful," she sighed, "The poor sewing girl must with work be supplied." Mamma kent ower much to oppose her desire, Sae she went on her mission—her escort the squire. Sic visitors gi'ed the Lees rather a start, Jess had just to the Banker prepared to depart; Nae change in her claithin' as yet had ta'en place, But the artist observed unco change in her face. Though pensive an' sweet, 'neath her glossy black hair The anguish that marked it yestreen was na there; There was dignity, too, in the pale mither's e'e, "That the noble Miss Clara had nae thocht to see. Wi' great condescension her name she reveals, 'Whilst the flunkey the bundle brings ben at her heels. "At desire of mamma, I have given this call, And brought you some sewing and change from the Hall; And when it is finished just step out for more, For I see," added she, "you are wretchedly poor. I am one of a party, united to serve The indigent class, if they really deserve; So should you be found, when inquiry is made, Of benefit worthy, depend on my aid. But paupers of late have so grossly imposed That we almost decided our fund should be closed;

On our charity list, then, I'll enter your name, When by proper credentials you prove you have claim." The leddie here ended her lang rigmarole, Whilst ilk ane its finishin' hardly could thole. Wi downricht displeasure the squire could na speak, An' a het spot o crimson ting'd Jessie's fair cheek; But the mither, though sair by sic graceless words stung, Had mair the command o' her feelin's an' tongue:— "Young leddie," quo she, "if your motive be guid, Your way o' befriendin's baith heartless and rude, An' has ower much the tinkle o' cymbal an' brass, To gar it for genuine charity pass. You say we are wretchedly puir an' forlorn, —An' sae we were, leddie, in a' ways this morn— Yet, think ye, because folks are puir an' distress'd, 'T must follow nae sensate pulse throbs in their breast. It needed nae visit to tell ye our tale— Yestreen it was yours with the snaw-laden gale, In the cauld breath o' which my bairns travelled to crave The penny weel earned, frae starvation to save. Had you troubled yoursel' wi' but ae kindly care, You'd at once hae jaloused fell distress broucht them there. Dinna frown, my young lady, I kenna yer heart, But I ken ye don't act 'Leddie Bountifu's' part; Ower much ostentation in givin' o' alms Aye inflicts on the humbled heart stabs wi' its balms.

The rich raven hair, an' the dark speakin' e'e, Reminds us fu' weel o' our frien' Jessie Lee; But the saft rounded visage an' cheek like the rose, An' figure sae plump, seem that thoucht to oppose. Yet, 'tis she, our ain Jessy, wi' heart aye the same, The pride an' delight o' her noo happy hame. A youth tall an' strappin', with soul-lichted broo, Frae a tree-shaded side walk advances to view; Sae wondrous the change in his features an' form, We scarce can believe him wee Tam o' the storm. Wi' a bound the white steps at the ha' door he clears, An' lanchin' wi' Jess at the window appears; But o' mither an' Maggie we're anxious to ken, Sae, wi' leave, Maister Tammie, we'll follow ye ben. 'Tis a snug sittin' parlour, whase furnishin' chaste Displays the perfection o' neatness an' taste; Noucht is wantin' to mak' it baith cozie and braw, Nae untidy arrangement, nae valgar geegaw; The licht leaves like net work the window half-screen, An' lichts the neat chamber wi' soft sunny green, Whilst a vase o' rich workmanship, loaded wi' bloom, Fresh culled frae the garden, spreads richest perfume. Attired in a plain suit o' rich sober grey, The mither appears an' looks bloomin' as May; A' traces o' want produced sickness have fled, Whilst health and contentment are there in their stead. Ben comes a braw missie, wi' braid gipsey hat, Half shadin' a countenance ruddy and fat; 'Tis Maggie—how changed since we gazed on her last, Though seasons but few hae sin syne flitted past!

They haud hallowdays noo, the vacation has cam', An' weel they enjoy the hame visit o' Tam. In their wonderfu' rescue frae poverty's fangs, Hae they banished frae min' a' its horrible pangs; An' rowin' in gowd, settled down on their lees, Makin' up for the past wi' self-comfort an' ease? Na, na, for miles roun' them they're blessed an' theyre roosed, Their bounty's sae muckle, an' kindly diffused; Disdainin' the thouchts o' display afore men— What the richt han' performeth the left doesna ken. "My bairns," quo the wife, "in our mind we maun bear This gowd is a talent gi'en up to our care; We are stewards o' it noo, an' maun gie an' account O' its use or abuse, to the nicest amount. We would peril our soul then if hoard it we dare, When the owner commands that the needy get share; Its rust a swift witness against us would be, Besides there's nae mockin' His all seein' ee. Many trusted wi' muckle, near fash at want's wail, But when ca'd to account fondly think 'twill avail To atone for the duties through life left undone To gie what they can't haud to ilk charity fund. O' that system, my bairns, no' a trial we'll mak', Lest we meet in the end wi' an unco mistak'; For supposin' a king o' our ain had decreed That a company should on a journey proceed, A' frae his abundance gied plenty for a' Tae stewards appointed, wi' written down law,

That they tak' o' the treasures o' which they hae tent, An' furnish the lave wi' supplies as they went; Fuw an' free they micht use it themsel's day by day, But their fellows they maanna let faint by the way. Noo, supposin' these stewards, when on a bit gane, Began to claim a' in their charge as their ain, Let the lave bear the burden an' heat o' the day, Ne'er fashin' their head wi' their weal or their wae; Allowin' them oft times wi' hunger to dee, Whilst they pampered ilk lust o' their ain heart an' ee; E'en tryin' their mission a' ways to disclaim, Till the summons that ca'd them to reckonin' came. They maun gang—an' oh! fearfw', that hoarded up gear, Whilst the king's subjects perish—but striken' wi' fear They snatch up the buke (done themselves wi' the gowd), On its last page a wheen o' donations they croud; I doubt if an earth king tae sic would exclaim, 'Weel done guid an' faithfu', you've served without blame.' Our office, my bairns, we maun truly fulfil, We rejoice in the means an' are blest wi' the will; An' hae felt what the gentry ne'er ken'd a' their days, Nor half can imagine o' poverty's waes." Sae they made it a rule aye to gang to their bed W7' the thocht that joy rays through some heart they had shed; Into puir bodies houses they didna intrude, Speerin' after affairs wi' a sympathy rude.

Yet their favours they did not confine to that class O' stout, sturdy beggars whose visage is brass; Nor yet on ilk list wi' a flourish put down The guid they dispensed till the press it went roun'; But they took aye the kindly an' delicate way Ilka gift, no' 'neath charity's name, to convey; Their bounty fell plenteous, as dews o' the e'en', Refreshin' a' round, yet descendin' no seen. Philanthropists truly in heart an' in fame, Frae the mither to Maggie, were a' in that hame. Unco bonnie an' braw this bricht morn lookit Jess, Sae neatly busked up in a licht snawy dress, An' mid the dark hair saftly shadin' her broo', Glowed a moss rose still glittrin' wi' morn's pearly dew; Some pleasant excitement mak's brichter her een, Whilst the blush on her cheek is aye varyin' seen. At length comes the sound that her flushin' explains, A carriage rows swift ower the wee pebble stanes, An' presently steppet familiarly ben The squire, wha aye gies them a day noo an' then; O' a son an' a brither he acts aye the part, But a feelin' mair deep has ta'en captive his heart. In Jessie he sees a' that beauty o' mind— Chaste, womanly, tender—a' graces combined: That their hearts had companionship each only knew, For virtue to virtue instinctively drew, Till love, honest, ardent as e'er was confessed, Based on highest esteem, rose brimfu' in ilk breast. Sae the eve 0' the mornin' on which they noo meet Saw the squire tell his love-tale, tho' no at her feet,

But wi' een sparklin' tenderness, earnest and bland, As he held in his ain her saft, willin' wee hand; He asked her to brighten his heart an' his ha', To let him say wifie—name dearest o' a'; On life's journey to draw her close, close to his side, To be her companion, protector, an' guide. An' when wi' a blush that the rose micht weel shame, She modestly owned to an equal love flame, Aw candidly said, wi' her een fu' o' tears, Unscruplin' she'd trust him the lave o' life's years, He pressed on her honest an' love-lighted brow A kiss, fervent seal o" her bliss-givin' vow.

Words canna reveal a' the joys o' the day That beheld Jessie Lee in her bridal array; Throughout a' the district, in cot far an' near, The inmates partook o' a liberal cheer; An' wi' bosoms warm swellin' wi' thanks, an' wi' pride, Roosed and toasted the squire an' his beautifu' bride. An' how high in her husband's mind rose the fair Jess, Clad in simple, an' snaw white, but jewelless dress, For only her lord's weddin' gift did she wear— A string o' pure pearls on a bosom as fair. "My heart wouldna' gie me," she smilingly said, "On baubles to spend what would gie bodies bread; Kind nature supplies me wi' a' I desire, This dewy fresh bouquet, an' fragrant rose tiar." An' truly the flowers wreathed amid her dark hair Looked mair sweet on her broo' than would gems hae done there.

The guests were a worthy an' weel chosen band, True genteels, though boastin' nae bluid o' the grand; To virtue and nobleness closely allied, Esteemin' ilk ither, an' lovin' the bride. Round that breakfast board glistened little brocade, Nor was there a store o' bricht jewels displayed, But diamond e'en glinted pure rays from the heart, An' simple robes faulded o'er breasts void o' art, Aw a' went as merry as merry could be, Wi' wishin', an' toastin', an' jokin', an' glee, Until the squire's carriage, wi' proud, prancin' steeds, Impatiently tossin' their gay tasselled heads At the ha' door appearin', put mirth to a stan', An' told the young couple the hour was at han'. Then was fond embracin', smiles, weepin' an' a', An' the squire an' his bonnie bride galloped awa; The fond mother dryin' affection's proud tear, Resumed the glad hostess, wha's wish was to cheer.