The morn was keekin' frae the east,
The lav'rocks shrill, wi' dewy breast,
Were tow'ring past my ken,
Alang a burnie's flow'ry side,
That gurgl'd on, wi' glancin' glide,
I gain'd a bushy Glen;
The circling nets ilk Spider weaves
Bent wi' clear dew-drops hung,
A roun' amang the spreading leaves,
The cheary natives sung;
On'ts journey, the burnie,
Fell dashing down some lins,
White foaming, and roaming,
In rage amang the stanes.
While on the gowan turf I fat,
And view'd this blisfu' sylvan spat,
Amid the joyous soun';
Some mournfu' chirps, methought, of wae
Stole on my ear, frae neath a brae;
Whare, as I glinted down,
I spy'd a bonny wee bit Wren,
Lone, on a fuggy stane:
An' aye she tore her breast, an' than,
Poor thing, pour'd out her mane,
Sae faintive, sae plaintive;
Sae faintive, sae plaintive;
Distrest me, an' prest me
To ken her cause o' pain.
Down frae a hingan hazel root,
Wi' easy wing, an' sadly mute,
A social Robin came;
Upon a trem'lin twig he perch'd,
While owre his head the craig was arch'd,
Near han' the hapless dame;
Awee he view'd her sad despair—
Her bitter chirps of wae,
Brought frae his e'e the pearly tear,
Whilk owre his breast did gae;
Still eyeing, and spying,
Nane near to gi'e relief;
And drooping, and stooping,
He thus enquir'd her grief.
“What dolefu'ill, alas! what woe
Gars thee sit mourning here below,
And rive thy mirley breast?
Has ony Whitret's direfu' jaws,
Or greedy Gled's fell squeezing claws,
Made thy wee lord a feast?
Or has some Callans, frae the town,
While roaring through the shaw,
Thy wee things', nest an' a torn down,
An' borne them far awa?
My Wrannie, I canna
Rest till thy waes thou tell;
For I yet may cry yet
Wi' siccan griefs mysel.”
“Och, Rab! my heart will brust in twa—
Alas! I'm dizzy—O I'll fa!
My legs, my heart will fail—
But since ye speer sae kind, my frien',
An' love like yours is seldom seen,
I'se tell the dreadfu' tale—
Aneath yon hingin' brae, as best,
Soon as the leaves came out,
Ye ken we joyfu' bug our nest,
And clos't it a'about.
Fu' cleanly, an' bienly
We lin'd it a' wi' down;
An' neatly, an' quietly,
We form'd it snug an' soun.
“The brae hung owre, in bushy height,
And hade it close frae ony's sight
That dauner't thro' the glen;
Nane e'er observ'd us jink within,
Or ever there for nests did fin,
'Twas sic a lanely den.
An' mony a day an' night I sat,
While my wee Tam did sing,
Till saxteen bonny things I gat,
A hotching 'neath each wing.
What pleasure, this treasure
Gied us, I needna' tell:
Sic pleasures, sic treasures,
Ye've aft enjoy'd yoursel.
“Soon as the gladsome morning rose,
I left them row't in warm repose,
An' thro' the warbling wood,
'Mang aul' tree-roots an' prickly brier,
My Tam an' me, withouten fear,
Rode for their wanted food;
An', oh! what transports swell'd my breast,
At night, when I survey'd
A' safe an' weel about our nest,
An' them quiet feath'rin' laid!—
Och! Robin—this sobbin
Forgie, for to the scenes
I draw now, that gnaw now,
My heart wi' wringing pains.
“This morn as soon as it grew light,
Baith thro' the glen we took our flight,
An' soon my neb I fill'd;
Some dreadfu' hurling noise I heard,
An' pale sorebodings made me fear'd,
That a' my hopes were kill'd.
I flighter't hame; but och! dread scene!
Whose horror crush'd my breath:
The brae had sa'n huge to the plain,
An' dash'd them a' to death—
Ye heavens, my grievings
You might have ceas'd to flow,
Me crashing, and dashing
With them to shades below.
“Nae mair I'll thro' the valley flee,
An gather worms wi' blissfu' glee,
To feed my cheeping young;
Nae mair wi' Tam himsel I'll rove,
Nor shall e'er joy, throughout the grove,
Flow frae my wretched tongue;
But lanely, lanely aye I'll hap,
'Mang aul' stane-dykes an' braes,
Till some ane roar down on my tap,
An' end my joyless days.”
So, lowly, and slowly
Araise the hapless Wren,
While crying, and sighing,
Remurmur'd through the Glen.
The lav'rocks shrill, wi' dewy breast,
Were tow'ring past my ken,
Alang a burnie's flow'ry side,
That gurgl'd on, wi' glancin' glide,
I gain'd a bushy Glen;
The circling nets ilk Spider weaves
Bent wi' clear dew-drops hung,
A roun' amang the spreading leaves,
The cheary natives sung;
On'ts journey, the burnie,
Fell dashing down some lins,
White foaming, and roaming,
In rage amang the stanes.
While on the gowan turf I fat,
And view'd this blisfu' sylvan spat,
Amid the joyous soun';
Some mournfu' chirps, methought, of wae
Stole on my ear, frae neath a brae;
Whare, as I glinted down,
I spy'd a bonny wee bit Wren,
Lone, on a fuggy stane:
An' aye she tore her breast, an' than,
Poor thing, pour'd out her mane,
Sae faintive, sae plaintive;
Sae faintive, sae plaintive;
Distrest me, an' prest me
To ken her cause o' pain.
Down frae a hingan hazel root,
Wi' easy wing, an' sadly mute,
A social Robin came;
Upon a trem'lin twig he perch'd,
While owre his head the craig was arch'd,
Near han' the hapless dame;
Awee he view'd her sad despair—
Her bitter chirps of wae,
Brought frae his e'e the pearly tear,
Whilk owre his breast did gae;
Still eyeing, and spying,
Nane near to gi'e relief;
And drooping, and stooping,
He thus enquir'd her grief.
“What dolefu'ill, alas! what woe
Gars thee sit mourning here below,
And rive thy mirley breast?
Has ony Whitret's direfu' jaws,
Or greedy Gled's fell squeezing claws,
Made thy wee lord a feast?
Or has some Callans, frae the town,
While roaring through the shaw,
Thy wee things', nest an' a torn down,
An' borne them far awa?
My Wrannie, I canna
Rest till thy waes thou tell;
For I yet may cry yet
Wi' siccan griefs mysel.”
“Och, Rab! my heart will brust in twa—
Alas! I'm dizzy—O I'll fa!
My legs, my heart will fail—
But since ye speer sae kind, my frien',
An' love like yours is seldom seen,
I'se tell the dreadfu' tale—
Aneath yon hingin' brae, as best,
Soon as the leaves came out,
Ye ken we joyfu' bug our nest,
And clos't it a'about.
Fu' cleanly, an' bienly
We lin'd it a' wi' down;
An' neatly, an' quietly,
We form'd it snug an' soun.
“The brae hung owre, in bushy height,
And hade it close frae ony's sight
That dauner't thro' the glen;
Nane e'er observ'd us jink within,
Or ever there for nests did fin,
'Twas sic a lanely den.
An' mony a day an' night I sat,
While my wee Tam did sing,
Till saxteen bonny things I gat,
A hotching 'neath each wing.
What pleasure, this treasure
Gied us, I needna' tell:
Sic pleasures, sic treasures,
Ye've aft enjoy'd yoursel.
“Soon as the gladsome morning rose,
I left them row't in warm repose,
An' thro' the warbling wood,
'Mang aul' tree-roots an' prickly brier,
My Tam an' me, withouten fear,
Rode for their wanted food;
An', oh! what transports swell'd my breast,
At night, when I survey'd
A' safe an' weel about our nest,
An' them quiet feath'rin' laid!—
Och! Robin—this sobbin
Forgie, for to the scenes
I draw now, that gnaw now,
My heart wi' wringing pains.
“This morn as soon as it grew light,
Baith thro' the glen we took our flight,
An' soon my neb I fill'd;
Some dreadfu' hurling noise I heard,
An' pale sorebodings made me fear'd,
That a' my hopes were kill'd.
I flighter't hame; but och! dread scene!
Whose horror crush'd my breath:
The brae had sa'n huge to the plain,
An' dash'd them a' to death—
Ye heavens, my grievings
You might have ceas'd to flow,
Me crashing, and dashing
With them to shades below.
“Nae mair I'll thro' the valley flee,
An gather worms wi' blissfu' glee,
To feed my cheeping young;
Nae mair wi' Tam himsel I'll rove,
Nor shall e'er joy, throughout the grove,
Flow frae my wretched tongue;
But lanely, lanely aye I'll hap,
'Mang aul' stane-dykes an' braes,
Till some ane roar down on my tap,
An' end my joyless days.”
So, lowly, and slowly
Araise the hapless Wren,
While crying, and sighing,
Remurmur'd through the Glen.