Classic Poem

O see ye yon cot on the edge o' the muir,
Whaur a' things look couthie, tho' a' things look puir,
Whaur barefitted lassies amang the green braes,
In the wee gushing burn ringe their siller-white claes;
Whaur bluff callants gump out the red freckled trout,
And snug on yon knowe lies the lazy herd lout,
While an auld tidie wifie to pree the fresh air,
Sits at the cot-door in an auld Elbow-Chair.

Twa trees fauld their arms ower the auld gable tap,
Like friends gieing ither a bien cozy hap;
A wee whitened bole through the green leaves is seen,
Whaur mony saft story's been whisper'd at e'en;
Auld Crummie's snug byre, and wee Grumphie's bit stye,
Though biggit ahint, yet ye needna rin bye,
They're tidy and sonsy, sae keek ye in there,
While I gaze on her in the auld Elbow-Chair.

O there did I nestle, and there did I climb,
Wi' short dockit cleedin' and round dumpy limb,
An' while our four arms were around ither's necks,
And our four een were glowrin' through ae pair o' specks,
And our four lips were lowin' wi' kisses o' love,
And our twa hearts were lit wi' a lowe frae above;
Oh then was there kissing and blessing to spare,
A warm nest o' love was that auld Elbow-Chair.

Syne when I gat breekums and gaed to the school,
How proud was my grannie that I proved nae fool,
But brought hame a prize-book and ettled to teach,
Syne clam to the chair-back and minted to preach;
While neebour bairns gather'd around our bien hearth,
Her ee glistened bright as she joined in their mirth;
But brighter at e'en when she wished in her prayer,
I might rise to a poopit frae that Elbow-Chair.

Wi' a warm bounding breast could I kneel at her feet,
And, big burly loun, like a bairn could I greet;
But sic sudden transports her heart-strings might crack,
Gin trowing her grandson in life had come back,
The pride o' her heart, and the light o' her ee —
What evil ee wiled me awa to the sea,
To leave the kind heart to the warld's icy care,
That nursed my young days in that auld Elbow-Chair.

Oh! hard has my fate been, and chequer'd my lot,
But these stirring heart-scenes were never forgot,
In roar of the whirlwind, in lull of the breeze,
'Mid snow-crested billows and dark-bosom'd seas;
When sinking desponding 'mid tempest and storm,
Still through the deep gloom shone in brightness that form,
And beckon'd me hameward; then is nae it fair
I should tend her auld days in her auld Elbow-Chair?