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Our bairns they cam' thick--we were thankfu' for that,
For the bit and the brattie cam' aye alang wi' them;
Our pan we exchanged for a guid muckle pat,
And somehow or ither, we aye had to gi'e them.
Our laddies grew up, and they wrought wi' mysel,
Ilk ane gat as buirdly and stout as a miller,
Our lasses they keepet us trig aye, and hale,
And now can count a bit trifle o' siller.
But I and my Jenny are baith wearin' down,
And our lads and our lassies hae a' gotten married;
Yet see, we can rank wi' the best i' the town,
Though our noddles were never to paughtily carried.
And mark me--I've now got a braw cockit hat,
And in our civic building am reckon'd a pillar;
Is na that a bit honour for ane to get at,
Wha married for love, and wha wrought for siller?
———
THE LASS OF ARRANTEENIE.
Forlorn amang the Highland hills,
'Midst Nature's wildest grandeur,
By rocky dens, an' woody glens,
With weary steps I wander.
The langsome way, the darksome day,
The mountain mist sae rainy,
Are nought to me when gaun to thee,
Sweet lass of Arranteenie.
Yon mossy rosebud down the howe,
Just op'ning fresh and bonny,
It blinks beneath the hazle bough,
An's scarely seen by ony;
Sae sweet amidst her native hills,
Obscurely blooms my Jeany,
Mair fair an' gay than rossy May,
The flower of Arranteenie.
Now from the mountain's lofty brow,
I view the distant ocean,
There Av'rice guides the bounding prow-
