Classic Poem

Ay! poor Archie Allan — I hope he's nae poor!
A mair dainty neebour ne'er entered ane's door —
An' he's worn awa frae an ill-doin' kin,
Frae a warld o' trouble, o' sorrow, an' sin,
Wad ye hear o' the hardships that Archie befel?
Then listen a wee an' his story I'll tell.

Now twice twenty towmonts, an' twenty are gane,
Sin' Archie an' I could hae ranket as men —
Sin' we could hae left ony twa o' our eild,
At a' kinds o' farm-wark, at hame, or a-field;
Sin' we could hae carried the best bow o' bear,
An' thrown the fore-hammer out-owre ony pair.
Ah! then we ware forward, an' flinty an' young,
An' never ance ken'd what it was to be dung;
We ware lang fellow servants, an' neebours fu' dear,
Fouk didna flit than about ilka hauf-year!
Whan he was the bridegroom, an' Mary his bride,
Mysel', an' my Jeanie, ware best man an' maid,
'Twas a promise atween us — they could na refuse,
Had our bridal been first, they had gotten the glo'es.

Aweel, they ware married, an' mony ware there,
An' Luve never low'd on a happier pair;
For Archie had nae woman's skaith he could rue,
An' Mary was sakeless o' breakin' her vow.
They had lo'ed ither lang, an' the day was to be,
Whan their ain gather'd pennie wad set them up free;
Sae, clear o' the warld, an' cantie, an' weel;
They thrave out an' in like the buss i' the beil',
Their wants ware na monie, their family was sma',
Themsel's, an' but a'e lassie bairn, was a';
Sae, wi' workin' an' winnin', wi' savin' an' care,
They gather'd an' gather'd nae that little gear.

Yet nae narrow bodies — nae niggards were they —
Nae slaves to the warld, to want — an' to hae;
Tho' they ken'd weel eneuch a' the bouk o' their ain,
They wad tak', they wad gi'e, they wad borrow or len';
Whan a friend or a neebour gaed speerin' their weel,
They had meal i' the bannock, an' maut i' the yill;
They had hearts that cou'd part, they had hands that ware free,
An' leuks that bade welcome, an' warm as cou'd be;
Gaed ye in — came ye out, they ware aye, aye the same,
There's few now a days 'mang our neebours like them!

Thus, blythesome an' happy, time hasten'd awa',
Till their dochter was twenty, or twenty an' twa;
Whan she, a' the comfort an' hope o' their days,
Fell into some dowie, some ling'rin' disease;
She was lang ill the lassie, an' muckle she bore.
An' monie cures they gie'd her, but death winna cure;
She dwyn'd like a flower 'mang the new maw'n grass,
Some luve disappointment they said was the cause —
Ay! happen what may, there maun aye be a mean,
Her grave was na sad, an' her truff was na green,
Whan Mary, hir mither, a' broken an' pin'd,
Wi' trachle o' body — wi' trouble o' mind —
Was reliev'd frae her sorrows — was also weel sair'd,
An' laid by her bairn i' the silent kirk yaird!

Oh, sirs! sic a change — it was waesome to see,
But life's like a journey, an' changes maun be,
Whan the day o' Prosperity seems but at noon,
The night o' Adversity aften comes down;
I've liv'd till my locks they are white as the snaw
Till the freends of my youth they are dead an' awa';
At deathbed an' burial nae stranger I've been,
But sorrow like Archie's I've never yet seen,
The death o' his lassie I ken'd it was sair,
But the death o' her mither was harder to bear;
For a' that was lovely, an' a' that was leal,
He had lost i' the death o' his Mary Macneill!

Whan the buryin' was bye, whan relations were gane,
Whan left i' the house, wae an' wearie, his lane,
As a neebour wad do, I gaed yont the gate-end,
An hour i' the gloamin's wi' Archie to spend;
For the fate o' our neebour may sune be our fa',
An' neebours are near us whan kindred's awa',
We spak' o' the changes that time ever brings,
O' the frail fadin' nature o' a' earthlie things;
O' life an it's blessings — that we hae them in len',
That the Giver whan He wills has a right to his ain;
That here tho' we hae nae continuin' hame,
How the promise is sure i' the Peacemaker's name,
To them that wi' patience, wi' firmness an' faith,
Believe in His merits an' trust in His death;
To them — tho' the coffin an' pale windin' sheet,
Tho' the cauld grave divide them, in heav'n they shall meet —
Shall yet hae a blythe and a blest meetin' there,
To ken separation an' sorrow nae mair.

Thus kindly conversin', we aften beguil'd
The hours o' the gloamin' till three summers smil'd;
Till time in its progress had yielded relief,
Had dealt wi' his mem'ry and lessen'd his grief —
Tho' nae like the man I had seen him, 'tis true,
Yet fell knief an' cantie my auld neebour grew.
Sometime than-about as it happen'd to be,
I had na seen Archie for twa weeks or three;
When a'e night a near neebour woman came ben,
An' says, " Ha'e ye heard o' the news that's a-gain?
It's been tell'd me sin' mornin' by mae fouk na ane,
That our friend Archie Allan was beuket yestreen. "
" Aweel, weel, " quo I, " It may even be sae,
There's aye heart wi' auld fouk, we'll a' get a day; "
But whan it was tell'd wha the bride was to be,
I heard an' said naething — I thought it a lee!

'Twas a' very gude he shou'd marry again —
A man in a house is but drearie his lane;
But to think he wad ever tak ane for a wife,
Wha had lived sic a loose an' a throwither life —
Wha had been far an' near whar it cou'd na be nam'd,
An' was come o' a family but little esteem'd —
To think he wad tak her! I cou'd na believ'd.
But me an' monie ithers were sairly deceiv'd,
For the Sunday thereafter, wha think ye was cry'd,
But Archibald Allan and Marg'ret Muresyde?
Weel, how they foregather'd, an' a' what befel,
Tho' it's painful to speak o't, ye'll wish me to tell.
She came in about here as it happen'd to fa',
An' was nearest door neebour to him that's awa';
An' seein' a fu' house, an' a free-hearted man,
That ken'd na the warld, wi' her wiles she began —
Seem'd sober an' decent as ony ye'll see,
An' quiet an' prudent as woman cou'd be —
Was aye brawly busket, an' tidy, an' clean,
An' aye at the kirk on the Sabbath was seen —
Was better na monie, an' marrow't by few,
Till a' came about as she'd wish'd it to do;
But scarcely her hand an' her troth he had tane,
Till she kyth'd in her ain dowie colours again —
Their courtship was short, an' short their honeymune —
It's aye rue'd at leisure what's owre rashly dune.

We've a' our ain fau'ts an' our failin's atweel,
But Maggy Muresyde! — she's a Never-do-weel —
An' the warst o' it was, in an unlucky hour,
She had got ilka plack o' the purse in her pow'r;
An' sune did she lift it, an' sune, sune it gaed —
In pennies 'twas gather'd — in pounds it was spread.
Her worthless relations, an' ithers siclike,
Came in about swarmin', as bees till a bike;
An' they feasted, an' drank, an' profan'd the Blest Name,
An' Sunday an' Saturday — a' was the same —
Waes me! it was sair upon Archie to see
The walth he had won, an' had lyin' sae free,
To comfort an' keep him, whan ailin' or auld,
Sae squander'd by creatures sae worthless an' bauld —
An' sair was he troubl'd to think o' their sin,
An' the awfu' account they wad hae to gi'e in;
Yet griev'd as he was at the rash lives they led,
He durst na ance say it was ill that they did!

But time an' your patience wad fail me to tell,
How she spent an' abus'd baith his means an' himsel',
For constant an' on as the rin o' the burn,
Her hand it was aye i' the unhappy turn —
Till siller, an' gear, an' a' credit was gane,
Till he had na a pennie or aught o' his ain;
Till age an' vexation had wrinkl'd his brow,
Till he had na a morsel to gang in his mou'!

A weel! neither able to want nor to win,
A'e mornin' last week, ere the daylight came in —
Thro' the lang eerie muirs, an' the cauld plashy snaw,
Wi' his staff in his hand he had wander'd awa' —
To seek a fa'n bit for his daily supply,
An' to thole the down-leuk o' the proud an' the high,
O! had I but seen him whan he gaed a-field,
I wad ta'en him in-with to my ain couthie beild;
An' wi' my auld neebour shar'd frankly an' free,
My bannock, my bed, an' my hinmost bawbee.

How far he had gane — how he'd far'd thro' the day,
What trials he had met wi', I canna weel say;
But whan the grey hour o' the gloamin' fell down,
He sought the fireside o' some distant farm-town —
Wi' the door hauflin's up, an' the sneck in his han'
He faintly inquired — wad they lodge a poor man?
The mistress gaz'd on him, an' drylie she spak',
" We may lodge you the night, but ye maunna come back " —
Said beggars an' gang'rels ware grown unco rife,
Speer'd what place he came frae — gin he had a wife? —
Ay! that was a question! — O, sirs, it was sair,
Had na he ha'en a Wife! — he wad never been there!
Cauld, cauld at their backs thro' the evenin' he sat,
An' cauld was the bed, an' the beddin' he gat,
The floor an' the rooftree was a' they could spare,
An' he lay down, alas! to rise up never mair; —
Was he lang or sair ill, there was naebody saw,
Gin the daylight came in — he had worn awa'
Wha ance wad ha'e thought it, that Archie wad been
A beggar — an' dee't in a barn his lane!
But we need na think this will, or that winna be,
For the langer we live the mae uncos we see.