life's reverses.
19
It broucht the dark hour o' their wish an' their dread,
When as paupers they'd crave workhouse shelter and bread;
Yet tears e'en on Maggie's wee cheek were na seen,
A passive despair filled their languishin' e'en,
As in silence they bided the hour drawin' nigh
When the starvin' to guardians must humbly apply;
They wished the ordeal o' entrin' was past,
That e'en there they were hid wi' their misery at last.
A hasty rat tat at the door gars them start,
For oh! unco feeble an' nervous each heart.
Jess, white as a sheet, scarce can gang ower the flair,
The door she unsnecks—tis the postman is there.
The back o' a great muckle letter he scans,
As he mutters, "This comes through a wheen o' posts' hands;
It's maist covered ower wi' 'no here,' and 'no there,'
But aiblins frae this it will travel nae mair:
Does there bide here ane Margaret Thamson, or Lee?"
"Yes," answered the widow, a' tremblin', "that' me."
"A's richt," quo the post, an' turned quick on his heel,
As Jess took the letter, and glower'd at the seal.
"No to me," quo the mither, "don't gie it to me,
My head's turned that licht no a blink could I see,
What on airth is't about, or wha can it be frae,
It's surely no bringing mair grief than we hae?"
Jess broke ope the seal, the contents she outspread,
First unfauldin' a stamp'd sheet a' prented wi' red.
When as paupers they'd crave workhouse shelter and bread;
Yet tears e'en on Maggie's wee cheek were na seen,
A passive despair filled their languishin' e'en,
As in silence they bided the hour drawin' nigh
When the starvin' to guardians must humbly apply;
They wished the ordeal o' entrin' was past,
That e'en there they were hid wi' their misery at last.
A hasty rat tat at the door gars them start,
For oh! unco feeble an' nervous each heart.
Jess, white as a sheet, scarce can gang ower the flair,
The door she unsnecks—tis the postman is there.
The back o' a great muckle letter he scans,
As he mutters, "This comes through a wheen o' posts' hands;
It's maist covered ower wi' 'no here,' and 'no there,'
But aiblins frae this it will travel nae mair:
Does there bide here ane Margaret Thamson, or Lee?"
"Yes," answered the widow, a' tremblin', "that' me."
"A's richt," quo the post, an' turned quick on his heel,
As Jess took the letter, and glower'd at the seal.
"No to me," quo the mither, "don't gie it to me,
My head's turned that licht no a blink could I see,
What on airth is't about, or wha can it be frae,
It's surely no bringing mair grief than we hae?"
Jess broke ope the seal, the contents she outspread,
First unfauldin' a stamp'd sheet a' prented wi' red.
