Classic Poem

Beatus ille

Happy is he, far fae the toon's alairm
Wha wons contentit on his forbears' fairm;
Whistlin' ahint his owsen at the ploo,
Oonfashed wi' siller lent or int'rest due.
Nae sodger he, that 's piped to wark an' meat,
Nae bar'fit sailor, fleyed at wind an' weet,
Schoolboard nor Session tempt him fae his hame,
Provost or Baillie never heard his name;
His business 'tis to sned the larick trees
For lichened hag to stake his early peas,

Or on his plaid amang the braes to lie
Herdin' his sleekit stots an' hummel kye,
Here wi' his whittle nick a sooker saft,
There mark a stooter shank for future graft;
Whiles fae a skep a dreepin' comb he steals.
Or clips the doddit yowes for winter wheels.
When ower the crafts blythe Autumn lifts her head
Buskit wi' aipples ripe an' roddens red,
He speels the trees the hazel nits to pu',
An' rasps an' aivrins fill his bonnet fu', —
Fit gifts awat, for gods o' wood an' yaird
To show the gratefu' husbandman's regaird.
Ah, then 'tis pleasant on saft mossy banks
'Neath auncient aiks to ease his wearied shanks,
Whaur hidden burnies rumblin onwards row,
An' liltin' linties cheer the peacefu' howe,
An' babblin' springs, as thro' the ferns they creep
Wi' ceaseless croonin' lull to gentle sleep.
When stormy winter comes an' in its train
Brings drivin' drift an' spates o' plashin' rain,
Wi' dog an' ferret then he 's roon' the parks
Whaur rabbits in the snaw hae left their marks;
Or brings wi' smorin' sulphur thuddin' doon
The roostin' pheasant fae the boughs aboon,
Or daunders furth wi' girn an' gun to kill
White hares an' ptarmigan upon the hill.
Wha mid sic joys would ever stop to fash
Wi' trystin' queyns, their valinteens an' trash?
But gin a sonsy wife be his, she 'll help
Wi' household jots, the weans she 'll clead an' skelp,
An' — Buchan kimmers ken the way fu' weel
Or Hielan' hizzies — tenty toom the creel
O' lang hained heath'ry truffs to reist the fire
Against her man's return, fair dead wi' tire,
An' byre-ward clatter in her creeshie brogues
To fill wi' foamin' milk the scrubbit cogues,
Syne fae the press the cakes an' kebbuck draw
An' hame-brewed drink nae gauger ever saw —
Plain simple fare; could partans better please
Or skate or turbot fae the furthest seas,
Brocht to the market by the trawler's airt
Hawkit fae barrows or the cadger's cairt?
Nae frozen dainties, nae importit meat,
Nae foreign galshochs, taste they e'er sae sweet,
But I will match them fast as ye can name
Wi' simple berries that we grow at hame —
Wi' burnside soorocks that ye pu' yoursel',
Wi' buttered brose, an' chappit curly kail,

Wi' mealy puddins fae the new killed Mart,
Or hill-fed braxy that the tod has spar'd.
What happier life than this for young or auld?
To see the blackfaced wethers seek the fauld,

The reekin' owsen fae the fur' set free
Wear slowly hamewith ower the gowan'd lea,
An' gabbin' servants fae the field an' byre
Scorchin' their moleskins at the kitchen fire.

The banker swore mid siccan scenes to die,
" Back to the land" was daily his refrain;
A fortnicht syne he laid his ledgers by,
The nicht he 's castin' his accoonts again!