Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850–1894). A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods. 1913.
II. Ille Terrarum
F
Frae Norlan’ snaw, an’ haar o’ seas,
Weel happit in your gairden trees,
A bonny bit,
Atween the muckle Pentland’s knees,
Secure ye sit.
An’ firs, a stench, auld-farrant clique.
A’ simmer day, your chimleys reek,
Couthy and bien;
An’ here an’ there your windies keek
Amang the green.
A wheen auld gillyflowers an’ roses:
A ring o’ wa’s the hale encloses
Frae sheep or men;
An’ there the auld housie beeks an’ doses,
A’ by her lane.
A’ day in the pitaty-track,
Or mebbe stops awhile to crack
Wi’ Jane the cook,
Or at some buss, worm-eaten-black,
To gie a look.
The sheep gang baaing by the wa’s;
Or whiles a clan o’ roosty craws
Cangle thegether;
The wild bees seek the gairden raws,
Weariet wi’ heather.
The sweet-throat mavis tunes her lay;
The herd comes linkin’ doun the brae;
An’ by degrees
The muckle siller müne maks way
Amang the trees.
For meditation sat apairt,
When orra loves or kittle art
Perplexed my mind;
Here socht a balm for ilka smart
O’ humankind.
Wi’ Horace, or perhaps Montaigne,
The mornin’ hours hae come an’ gane
Abüne my heid—
I wadnae gi’en a chucky-stane
For a’ I’d read.
An’ winter fu’ o’ snaw an’ sleet,
Awhile shut in my gangrel feet
An’ goavin’ mettle;
Noo is the soopit ingle sweet,
An’ liltin’ kettle.
Cauld lies the glaur in ilka lane;
On draigled hizzie, tautit wean
An’ drucken lads,
In the mirk nicht, the winter rain
Dribbles an’ blads.
An’ beaten drums wi’ dowie shock,
Wauken, at cauld-rife sax o’clock,
My chitterin’ frame,
I mind me on the kintry cock,
The kintry hame.
An’ Fancy traivels far afield
To gaither a’ that gairdens yield
O’ sun an’ Simmer:
To hearten up a dowie chield,
Fancy’s the limmer!