The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume Ii Part 61

Johnnie turned and left her, List.i.t for the war; In a year cam limpin Hame wi' mony a scar.

Wha was that was sittin On the brae, sae still?

Worn and wan and altert, Could it be hersel?

Cled in black, her eelids Reid wi' greitin sair-- Was she wife and widow In a towmond bare?

Mally's hert played wallop, Kenned him or he spak: "Are ye no deid, Johnnie?

Is't yersel come back?"

"Are ye wife or widow?

Tell me in a breath; Lanely life is fearsome, Waur nor ony death!"

"Wha cud be a widow Wife was never nane?

Noo, gien ye will hae me, Noo I will be ane!"

Crutch awa he flang it, Clean forgot his hairms, Cudna stan' withoot it, Fell in Mally's airms.

_GAEIN AND COMIN_.

Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed The lift was lowerin dreary, The sun he wadna raise his heid, The win' blew laich and eerie.

In's pooch he had a plack or twa-- I vow he hadna mony, Yet Andrew like a linty sang, For Lizzie was sae bonny!

O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny la.s.sie!

Bonny, saucy hizzy!

What richt had ye to luik at me And drive me daft and dizzy?

Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam The sun was s.h.i.+nin rarely; He rade a horse that pranced and sprang-- I vow he sat him fairly!

And he had gowd to spen' and spare, And a hert as true as ony; But his luik was doon, his sigh was sair, For Lizzie was sae bonny!

O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzy!

Aih, the sunlicht weary!

Ye're straucht and rare--ye're fause though fair!-- Hech, auld John Armstrong's deary!

_A SANG O' ZION_.

Ane by ane they gang awa; The getherer gethers grit and sma': Ane by ane maks ane and a'!

Aye whan ane sets doon the cup Ane ahint maun tak it up: A' thegither they will sup!

Golden-heidit, ripe, and strang, Shorn will be the hairst or lang: Syne begins a better sang!

_TIME AND TIDE_.

As I was walkin on the strand, I spied ane auld man sit On ane auld black rock; and aye the waves Cam was.h.i.+n up its fit.

His lips they gaed as gien they wad lilt, But o' liltin, wae's me, was nane!

He spak but an owercome, dreary and dreigh, A burden wha's sang was gane: "Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns; They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, And pairt.i.t the twa wi' a glint and a gush."

"What can the auld man mean," quod I, "Sittin o' the auld black rock?

The tide creeps up wi' a moan and a cry, And a hiss 'maist like a mock!

The words he mutters maun be the en'

O' some weary auld-warl' sang-- A deid thing floatin aboot in his brain, 'At the tide 'ill no lat gang!"

"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns; They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, And pairt.i.t the twa wi' a glint and a gush."

"Hoo pairt.i.t it them, auld man?" I said; "Was't the sea cam up ower strang?

Oh, gien thegither the twa o' them gaed Their pairtin wasna lang!

Or was are ta'en, and the ither left-- Ane to sing, are to greit?

It's sair, I ken, to be sae bereft-- But there's the tide at yer feet!"

"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, And they playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, And pairt.i.t the twa wi' a glint and a gush."

"Was't the sea o' s.p.a.ce wi' its storm o' time That wadna lat things bide?

But Death's a diver frae heavenly clime Seekin ye neth its tide, And ye'll gaze again in ither's ee, Far abune s.p.a.ce and time!"

Never ae word he answered me, But changed a wee his rime: "Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, And they playt thegither upo' the sh.o.r.e; Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, And pairt.i.t the twa for evermore."

"May be, auld man, 'twas the tide o' change That c.r.a.p atween the twa?

Hech! that's a droonin fearsome strange, Waur, waur nor are and a'!"

He said nae mair. I luikit, and saw His lips they couldna gang: Death, the diver, had ta'en him awa, To gie him a new auld sang.

Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, And they playt thegither upo' the sh.o.r.e: Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, And souft them awa throu a mirksome door!

_THE WAESOME CARL_.

There cam a man to oor toon-en', And a waesome carl was he, Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd, And gleyt o' a blinterin ee.

Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak, But the owercome o' his sang, Whatever it said, was aye the same:-- There's nane o' ye a' but's wrang!

Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang, And a'thegither a' wrang: There's no a man aboot the toon But's a'thegither a' wrang.

That's no the gait to fire the breid, Nor yet to brew the yill; That's no the gait to haud the pleuch, Nor yet to ca the mill; That's no the gait to milk the coo, Nor yet to spean the calf, Nor yet to tramp the girnel-meal-- Ye kenna yer wark by half!

Ye're a' wrang, &c.

The minister wasna fit to pray And lat alane to preach; He nowther had the gift o' grace Nor yet the gift o' speech!

He mind't him o' Balaam's a.s.s, Wi' a differ we micht ken: The Lord he opened the a.s.s's mou, The minister opened's ain!

He was a' wrang, and a' wrang, And a'thegither a' wrang; There wasna a man aboot the toon But was a'thegither a' wrang!

The puir precentor couldna sing, He grunt.i.t like a swine; The verra elders couldna pa.s.s The ladles til his min'.

And for the rulin' elder's grace It wasna worth a horn; He didna half uncurse the meat, Nor pray for mair the morn!

He was a' wrang, &c.

And aye he gied his nose a thraw, And aye he crook't his mou; And aye he c.o.c.kit up his ee And said, Tak tent the noo!

We snichert hint oor loof, my man, But never said him nay; As gien he had been a prophet, man, We loot him say his say: Ye're a' wrang, &c.

Quo oor gudeman: The crater's daft!

Heard ye ever sic a claik?

Lat's see gien he can turn a ban', Or only luik and craik!

It's true we maunna lippin til him-- He's fairly crack wi' pride, But he maun live--we canna kill him!