Though overly proud, she was bonnie an' young,
And, in spite o' her jeers an' her scornin',
I lo'ed her as well, or mair than mysel';
An' I follow'd her e'enin' an' mornin'.
She trysted me ance, an' she trysted me twice,
But—the limmer!—she never came near me;
And, when I complain'd o't, she leuch, while she speer'd,
Was I fear'd that the bogles would steer me?
I gaed to the market to meet wi' my joe,
An' to buy her back-burdens o' fairin',
My lang-hoarded shillin's and saxpences took;
For I vow'd that I woul'dna be sparin'.
She pouch'd a' my sweeties, my apples an' rings,
Till awa' was ilk lang-treasured shillin',
Then says I, “We'll go hame.”—Losh, Geordie, gae wa',”
Says she, “for your supper is spoilin'!”
Wi' puir Geordie's fairings, sae fine, in her pouch,
She gaed an' drew up wi' anither;
The chield threw his arms about her sweet neck,
An' awa' hame they cleekit thegither.
Wi' a heart sad an' sair I follow' the twa—
At her auld father's door saw them partin'—
Syne lifted the sneck, an' crap after my joe,
Wi' a wafu'-like look, I am certain!
I whispered her name, an' I clinkit me down
In the dark, on the settle, aside her,
An' clew at my head—I was sairly tongue-tied;
For I hadna the smeddum to chide her.
I now an' then mumbled a short word or twa—
A saft word or twa to my dearie;
But she gapit an' gauntit, sae aft an' sae lang,
An' she said she o' courtin' was weary!
I raise to ga hame; but the deil, for my sins,
O'er the floor gart me stoiter an' stammer,
'Till the pans made a noise, as the tinker had been
A-smashin' them a' wi' his hammer.
At the clatter, up startit the waukrife auld wife,—
Her claes she put on in a hurry;
Says she, “there's a loon 'yont the hallan, wi' Meg,
An the tangs in his harms I will bury!”
The flytin' auld rudas cam but wi' a bang;
An' my bosom was in a sad swither;
An' maist I would 'greed to forgotten my Meg,
If I had got but quit o' her mither.
The wife an' the tangs were ahint me, I trow;
An' the window was hie,—but I jumpit;
An' up to the neck in a deep midden-hole,
Like a trout in a bucket I plumpit!
Baith mither an' dochter glower'd out on the fun,
An' the young gilpie Maggie was laughin';
The auld ane skreigh'd out wi' a terrible yowl,
“Hey, lad! ye are row'd in a rauchan.”
My face it was red, an' my heart it was sair,
While my fause love my sorrow was mockin';
And an uncanny something raise up in my throat,
Till I thought that I surely was choakin'.
I ran to the burn, an' to drown me I vow'd,
For my heart wi' my fause love was breakin';
But the banks were sae high, and the water sae deep,
That the sight o't wi' fear set me quakin'!
Says, I, why despair? Sae comfort I took:—
A sweetheart! I'll soon get anither:
Sae hamewith I toddled, an' endit it a'—
For I told my mischance to my mither!
And, in spite o' her jeers an' her scornin',
I lo'ed her as well, or mair than mysel';
An' I follow'd her e'enin' an' mornin'.
She trysted me ance, an' she trysted me twice,
But—the limmer!—she never came near me;
And, when I complain'd o't, she leuch, while she speer'd,
Was I fear'd that the bogles would steer me?
I gaed to the market to meet wi' my joe,
An' to buy her back-burdens o' fairin',
My lang-hoarded shillin's and saxpences took;
For I vow'd that I woul'dna be sparin'.
She pouch'd a' my sweeties, my apples an' rings,
Till awa' was ilk lang-treasured shillin',
Then says I, “We'll go hame.”—Losh, Geordie, gae wa',”
Says she, “for your supper is spoilin'!”
Wi' puir Geordie's fairings, sae fine, in her pouch,
She gaed an' drew up wi' anither;
The chield threw his arms about her sweet neck,
An' awa' hame they cleekit thegither.
Wi' a heart sad an' sair I follow' the twa—
At her auld father's door saw them partin'—
Syne lifted the sneck, an' crap after my joe,
Wi' a wafu'-like look, I am certain!
I whispered her name, an' I clinkit me down
In the dark, on the settle, aside her,
An' clew at my head—I was sairly tongue-tied;
For I hadna the smeddum to chide her.
I now an' then mumbled a short word or twa—
A saft word or twa to my dearie;
But she gapit an' gauntit, sae aft an' sae lang,
An' she said she o' courtin' was weary!
I raise to ga hame; but the deil, for my sins,
O'er the floor gart me stoiter an' stammer,
'Till the pans made a noise, as the tinker had been
A-smashin' them a' wi' his hammer.
At the clatter, up startit the waukrife auld wife,—
Her claes she put on in a hurry;
Says she, “there's a loon 'yont the hallan, wi' Meg,
An the tangs in his harms I will bury!”
The flytin' auld rudas cam but wi' a bang;
An' my bosom was in a sad swither;
An' maist I would 'greed to forgotten my Meg,
If I had got but quit o' her mither.
The wife an' the tangs were ahint me, I trow;
An' the window was hie,—but I jumpit;
An' up to the neck in a deep midden-hole,
Like a trout in a bucket I plumpit!
Baith mither an' dochter glower'd out on the fun,
An' the young gilpie Maggie was laughin';
The auld ane skreigh'd out wi' a terrible yowl,
“Hey, lad! ye are row'd in a rauchan.”
My face it was red, an' my heart it was sair,
While my fause love my sorrow was mockin';
And an uncanny something raise up in my throat,
Till I thought that I surely was choakin'.
I ran to the burn, an' to drown me I vow'd,
For my heart wi' my fause love was breakin';
But the banks were sae high, and the water sae deep,
That the sight o't wi' fear set me quakin'!
Says, I, why despair? Sae comfort I took:—
A sweetheart! I'll soon get anither:
Sae hamewith I toddled, an' endit it a'—
For I told my mischance to my mither!