Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OVER THE WATER WI' CHAIRLIE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

Poet Analysis

First Line: COME BOAT ME O'ER, COME ROW ME O'ER!
Last Line: OR WE LIPPEN AGAIN TO CHAIRLIE!
Subject(s): BOATS; TRAVEL; WATER; JOURNEYS; TRIPS;
COME boat me o'er, come row me o'er!
But fate constrained us sairly
And gied us our paiks and a hantle mair
That ever we lippened to Chairlie.
For naething o' this would hae happened to hiz
If we had but stairted airly.
O we had won there and back again fair,
If it handnae been for Chairlie.

My Minnie sat cocked on a coggly canoe
And, wow! but she lookit a ferlie!
Her fit asleep and the sea in her shoe,
And a' on account o' Chairlie.
O sair is my sorrow wi' seas and rocks!
And the rain, says she, and Chairlie,
To sit cogglin' here on a biscuit box,
My lee alane wi' Chairlie!

While Bell and mysel' and the strong chief wife,
As stark as any kerlie,
We waded and paidled stachered for life,
And banned the face o' Chairlie!
I kilted my breeks and they their coats
O! glam to the knee, and merrily,
And we were a' in our Sinday's best,
Black be the fa' o' Chairlie.

That we should be forced to kilt our duds,
And show our shanks sae barely,
And stacher in a' kinds o' muds,
And a' on account o' Chairlie.
Oursel' we came there at the hinder end,
And the dances were over fairly;
O sure as death if we had but kenned,
We would never have lippened to Chairlie!

But we had still to get home again,
And the rain it rained full sairly,
I gie you my word as man to man,
I think we were used unfairly!
The rain it rained like never was,
The wind it blew contrairly;
But what constrained us mair than a'
Was the pizon smiles o' Chairlie.
He dipped his oar blade into the sea,
He ladled it but sparsely,
The gait the gude wife steers her tea
Was the gait to row for Chairlie.

We threesome sat like dreepin' hens,
And wow! we chittered sairly,
We dreeped and ran and clustered close,
And flytit sair on Chairlie.
O where is the rudder and where are the oars,
And where is the boat plug, Chairlie?
The sea it swells above our houghs,
The boat is sinking fairly!
O, if we put win hame again,
And we expect it barely,
The toot of judgment sure shall sound,
Or we lippen again to Chairlie!



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