Journeys Through Bookland Volume Viii Part 23

Mrs. Browning's purpose in writing this little story in verse was to show us how suddenly and how rudely unpleasant facts can break in upon our dreams. Ellie could never show her lover the swan's nest, as she had planned; and we are left with the feeling that she never found the lover of whom she dreamed--that all of her dream proved as false as the beautiful thought about the swan's nest.

FOOTNOTES:

[316-1] It would seem strange to us now if a soldier rode about playing upon a lute; but in the old days of chivalry about which little Ellie had been reading, it was looked upon as almost necessary for a knight to be able to play and sing sweet songs to his lady.

[316-2] The saddle-cloth or housing of the medieval knights was sometimes very large and gorgeous.

[317-3] _Nathless_ is an old word meaning _nevertheless_. Mrs. Browning uses an occasional old word, in order to give the atmosphere of the tales of chivalry.

[317-4] The _gage_ was a cap or glove, or some other symbol to show that he had performed the deeds which Ellie had demanded of him.

[317-5] _Guerdon_ means _reward_.

THE COTTER'S SAt.u.r.dAY NIGHT

_By_ ROBERT BURNS

NOTE.--There are many homes we like to visit in imagination, even if we cannot really go into them. It does not matter so much if they are not the homes of people in our own country who live as we do. For instance, Robert Burns described so well for us once the simple little home of a poor Scotch farmer that we read his words again and again with pleasure. It is such a poor little place, low-walled, thatched-roofed, part stable, that it would be unpleasant to us if we did not see it full of the spirit that makes true homes everywhere. The hard-working old farmer, his faithful wife, their industrious children, the oldest girl Jenny and her lover, all seem to us like very real people, whose joys and griefs are ours as much as theirs. We should like to sit with them at their humble table, to join in the good old hymns, and finally to kneel among them while the gentle old man said the evening prayer.

We would not notice their homely clothes, coa.r.s.e hands and simple, unscholarly language, for their real manliness and womanliness would win our esteem and love.

On the pages that follow we have printed the poem as Burns wrote it, except for some few stanzas it has seemed best to omit. The first nine stanzas contain many Scottish words and expressions, but after the ninth stanza, Burns uses plain English. It was a habit he had of writing sometimes in Scotch dialect and sometimes in fine English. People who have studied his work say that when he speaks right from his heart and because he really cannot help writing, he uses the dialect, but when he tries to teach a lesson, to advise any one, or to moralize, he always uses the English phraseology.

I

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;[320-1]

The short'ning winter day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae[320-2] the pleugh;[320-3]

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: The toil-worn cotter frae his labor goes, This night his weekly moil[320-4] is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks,[320-5] and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend.

II

At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree: Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin' stacher[320-6] thro'

To meet their dad, wi' flichterin'[320-7] noise an' glee.

His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonnily, His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary carking[320-8] cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toil.

III

Belyve,[321-9] the elder bairns come drappin' in.

At service out, amang the farmers roun'; Some ca'[321-10] the pleugh, some herd, some tentie[321-11] rin A cannie[321-12] errand to a neebor town: Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, In youthfu' bloom, love sparklin in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw[321-13] new gown, Or deposit her sair-won[322-14] penny fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hards.h.i.+p be.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TH' EXPECTANT WEE-THINGS]

IV

Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers:[322-15]

The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the uncos[322-16] that he sees or hears; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Antic.i.p.ation forward points the view; The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new;[322-17]

The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

V

Their master's an' their mistress's command, The younkers[322-18] a' are warned to obey: "An' mind their labours wi' an eydent[322-19] hand, An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk[322-20] or play: An' O! be sure to fear the Lord alway!

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night!

Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, Implore his counsel and a.s.sisting might: They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord aright!"

VI

But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neebor lad cam' o'er the moor, To do some errands and convoy her hame.[323-21]

The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e,[323-22] and flush her cheek; With heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins[323-23] is afraid to speak; Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae[323-24] wild, worthless rake.

VII

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben:[323-25]

A strappin' youth; he takes the mother's eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en;[323-26]

The father cracks[323-27] of horses, pleughs, and kye.[323-28]

The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate[323-29] and laithfu',[323-30] scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae[323-31] bashfu' an' sae grave; Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave.[323-32]

VIII

But now the supper crowns their simple board, The halesome parritch,[324-33] chief o' Scotia's food: The sowpe[324-34] their only Hawkie[324-35] does afford, That 'yont the hallan[324-36] snugly chows her cood;[324-37]

The dame brings forth in complimental mood To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd[324-38] kebbuck[324-39] fell-- An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid;[324-40]

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, How 'twas a towmond[324-41] auld, sin' lint was i' the bell;[324-42]

IX

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, The big ha'-Bible,[324-43] ance[324-44] his father's pride: His bonnet[324-45] rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart[324-46] haffets[324-47] wearing thin an' bare: Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales[325-48] a portion with judicious care; And "Let us wors.h.i.+p G.o.d!" he says, with solemn air.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ROUND THE INGLE]

X

They chant their artless notes in simple guise; They tune their hearts, by far the n.o.blest aim: Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name, Or n.o.ble Elgin beats the heav'nward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays.

Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.