As I have once apologized already for the introduction of a few of his verses with Scotch words in them, I will venture to try whether the same apology will not cover a second offence of the same sort.
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JEANIE BRAW[1]
I like ye weel upo’ Sundays, Jeanie, In yer goon an’ yer ribbons gay; But I like ye better on Mondays, Jeanie, And I like ye better the day.[2] [Footnote 1: Brave; well dressed.]. [Footnote 2: To-day.] For it will come into my heid, Jeanie, O’ yer braws[1] ye are thinkin’ a wee; No’ a’ o’ the Bible-seed, Jeanie, Nor the minister nor me. [Footnote 1: Bravery; finery.] And hame across the green, Jeanie, Ye gang wi’ a toss o’ yer chin: Us twa there’s a shadow atween, Jeanie, Though yer hand my airm lies in. But noo, whan I see ye gang, Jeanie, Busy wi’ what’s to be dune, Liltin’ a haveless[2] sang, Jeanie, I could kiss yer verra shune. [Footnote 2: Careless.] Wi’ yer silken net on yer hair, Jeanie, In yer bonny blue petticoat, Wi’ yer kindly airms a’ bare, Jeanie, On yer verra shadow I doat. For oh! but ye’re eident[3] and free, Jeanie, Airy o’ hert and o’ fit[4]; There’s a licht shines oot o’ yer ee, Jeanie; O’ yersel’ ye thinkna a bit. [Footnote 3: Diligent.] [Footnote 4: Foot.] Turnin’ or steppin’ alang, Jeanie, Liftin’ an’ layin’ doon, Settin’ richt what’s aye gaein’ wrang, Jeanie, Yer motion’s baith dance an’ tune. Fillin’ the cogue frae the coo, Jeanie, Skimmin’ the yallow cream, Poorin’ awa’ the het broo, Jeanie, Lichtin’ the lampie’s leme[5]— [Footnote 5: Flame.] I’ the hoose ye’re a licht an’ a law, Jeanie, A servant like him that’s abune: Oh! a woman’s bonniest o’ a’, Jeanie, Whan she’s doin’ what maun be dune. Sae, dressed in yer Sunday claes, Jeanie, Fair kythe[1] ye amang the fair; But dressed in yer ilka-day’s[2], Jeanie, Yer beauty’s beyond compare. |
[Footnote 1: Appear.]
[Footnote 2: Everyday clothes.]
CHAPTER XXXI
A Winter’s Ride
In this winter, the stormiest I can recollect, occurred the chief adventure of my boyhood—indeed, the event most worthy to be called an adventure I have ever encountered.
There had been a tremendous fall of snow, which a furious wind, lasting two days and the night between, had drifted into great mounds, so that the shape of the country was much altered with new heights and hollows. Even those who were best acquainted with them could only guess at the direction of some of the roads, and it was the easiest thing in the world to lose the right track, even in broad daylight. As soon as the storm was over, however, and the frost was found likely to continue, they had begun to cut passages through some of the deeper wreaths, as they called the snow-mounds; while over the tops of others, and along the general line of the more frequented roads, footpaths were soon trodden. It was many days, however, before vehicles could pass, and coach-communication be resumed between the towns. All the short day, the sun, though low, was brilliant, and the whole country shone with dazzling whiteness; but after sunset, which took place between three and four o’clock, anything more dreary can hardly be imagined, especially when the keenest of winds rushed in gusts from the north-east, and lifting the snow-powder from untrodden shadows, blew it, like so many stings, in the face of the freezing traveller.
Early one afternoon, just as I came home from school, which in winter was always over at three o’clock, my father received a message that a certain laird, or squire as he would be called in England—whose house lay three or four miles off amongst the hills, was at the point of death, and very anxious to see him: a groom on horseback had brought the message. The old man had led a life of indifferent repute, and that probably made him the more anxious to see my father, who proceeded at once to get ready for the uninviting journey.