THIS while I've been ettlin' to string a wheen rhymes, Being unco sair fash'd at the signs o' the times— The mony dark omens aroun' an' abune, The upshot o' whilk will be seen on us sune. The cholera's wan'ering roun' us this while, An' I watna hoo sune it may come to our isle, Whan, on Sabbath, instead o' a ride on the rail, We may follow the deid-cart wi' greetin' an' wail. The pest 'mang oor bestial is spreading like fire, The sta's are a' toom noo in mony a byre, The hirsels are dwinin' on hillside an' lea, An' the grief an' the losses are waesome to dree. We've lost our gude Premier: I houp he's at rest In the Lan' o' the Leal, wi' the gude an' the blest; God bless oor wee Johnnie! he'll dae what he can For our gude—a true Briton, an' leal heartit-man. We're a' to be chawed up by big Cousin Sam, Wha brags he has brocht the dark children o' Ham Out the hoose o' their bondage, an' set them a' free; May they use weel the blessin'!—belyve we s'all see. A plague's rife amang us that bears aye the bell: It's the plague o' intemperance—what mortal may tell How fearfu' the curse, an' the plague-sairs how foul, That poison the body and ruin the soul! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUNCHES OF GRAPES by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE TEMERAIRE by HERMAN MELVILLE THE LAY OF THE LEVITE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN SOLILOQUIES OF A SMALL-TOWN TAXI-DRIVER: ON THE WRITING OF POETRY by EDGAR BARRATT OVER THE ROSE-LEAVES, UNDER THE ROSE by JOHN BENNETT (1865-1956) THE FOREST POOL by GRACE BLAINE |