Читать книгу The Cornflower, and Other Poems - Jean Blewett - Страница 13

The Allans o' Airlie they set muckle store

On ancestry, acres, and siller,

Nor cared to remember the good days of yore,

Nor grandfather Allan, the miller —

The honest old miller.

"We're wealthy fowk now, tak' oor place wi' the best,"

Said the heid o' the Allans, one Dougal,

A man whom Dame Fortune had royally blest,

Of sensible habits, and frugal —

Uncommonly frugal.

"We're honored by great fowk and wise fowk, now min',

O' the kirk each Allan's a pillar —

What more could we spier o' a providence kin',

Unless 'twere a little more siller —

A little more siller.

"For it's get what ye can, and keep what ye get;

Ye'll fin' this an unco' guid motto,

We chose it lang syne, and we stick to it yet,

Altho' not sae close as we ought to —

Not nearly sae close as we ought to.

"There is ane o' the name is a spendthrift, an ass;

The reason tae ye I'll discover:

Oor gran'faither marrit an Inverness lass,

Juist because he happened to luve her —

Foolish mon, he happened to luve her!

"And the wild Highland strain is still i' the bluid —

'Tis i' Colin, as sure's you're leeving;

Ye ken how it is wi' the whole Highland brood —

'Tis a' for spending and geeving.

"Gin ye're freen' o' the clan, why, ask what ye may,

Ye'll get o' the best, ay, get double;

Gin ye're foe o' the clan, weel, juist gang your way

If so be ye're no hunting trouble.

"Brither Colin was daft when a lad at the school,

Wi' ways and wi' morals improper,

Had high flowing notions – poor family fool,

His notions ha' made him a pauper.

"What owns he? Bare acres a few, and a house,

Yet when we, last year, were expecting

Twa relatives, ane puir as ony church mouse,

Ane freighted wi' wealth, unreflecting,

"He spat oot graun' like, 'Sin' ye're ower fond o' pelf

'Ye can hae,' said he, 'the rich pairty,

But I'll tak' the mon that is puir as mysel'

And gie him a welcome right hearty' —

A welcome right hearty.

"Gosh! I had tae lauch at the feckless auld mon

As he stood there, his bonnet-strings twirling;

Ye'd think he was chief o' a whole Highland clan

That marched to the pibroch's mad skirling.

"Ah! hot-headed, high-handed, go as you please,