Literary Collections

The Rustic Bard, Or, a Voice from the People

Name: The Rustic Bard, Or, a Voice from the People
Author: John Halliday
ISBN: 9781130240245

by John Halliday

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Synopsis

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1847 Excerpt: ...is ca'd Nick, Plunge every ane, tied in a sack, 'Mang boilin' lead, Wha'd treat the name wi' disrespect, O' him that's dead. PER CONTRA. Ho! Fame! grip to yer bags wi' speed, An' wale yer sweetest, best-gaun reed, Yer loodest chanter--let it screed, Pibrochian squeel, It's a' blae-fum--he isna dead, But's thrivin' weel. GUID WEATHER'S DEAD. Written on some extremely stormy days which occurred in the lambing season, 1845. Here am I sittin' doon to write, Red-wud wi' spleen, pang fu' o' spite, For ilka thing is now gaen gite, Past a' remead; An' here's the cause, in black an' white--Gnid weather's dead. Aye, b' my faith! we've got oor fairin'--Oor hirsels gane, past a' repairing Lambs lie thick as new netted herrin', A' cauld as lead; Eild yowes, in thoosands, lood are rairin'--Guid weather's dead. My trulys! but we've got a yerkin'--. Wi' dead anes, hills are white as sarkin', There's nought but twa-three left the park in To save the breed; For want o' wark ilk collie's barkin'--Guid weather's dead. Oor lives are nearly past a' bearin', Wi' toil oor skins in holes are wearin'; We've lost baith smell, an' taste, an' hearin', Deil hae their greed; Now croupin' corbies bauld are swearin', Guid weather's dead. Ilk bodie that is earefu', truthfu', Can no' get time to take a mouthfu', E'en, what is waur, a puff or toothfu' O' Yankee weed, But ilk ane's rinning raving, doothfu'--Guid weather's dead. Yet 'tisna worth oor while to rin, To make a stramash and a din, We just as weel may stay within, An' take na heed, An' fettle up oor knives to skin--Guid weather's dead. There naething now is heard but boolin', Noughts seen but girnin' gabs an' scoolin', Ilk creature now is heartless shoolin', Wi' dowie tread; The vera cats are waefu' lollin'--Guid weather's dead. Its ...