Poems (Douglas)/Wee Allan

by Sarah Parker Douglas

Wee Allan.

Part First.

Ilk ane lo'ed the bashfu' callan,
 Wha sae eager seemed to learn;
Ilk ane smiled upon Wee Allan,
 Blessed an' roosed the widow's bairn.
Simmer morns wad see him wendin'
 Wi his bukes owre moor an' hill,
Nor could winter rains descendin'
 Keep him frae the Village School.

How his mither's heart was lifted
 Boon the weicht o' warldly care,
When they said her bairn was gifted
 Wi' endowments rich an' rare!
How her een wi' pleasure glinted,
 An' Wee Allan's cheek was dyed,
When the gossips plainly hinted
 He wad yet be a' their pride!

Seasons came an' went like shadows—
 Allan, tall an' strappin' stood,
Rangin' by himsel' the meadows,
 An' the silent, lanely wood;
Scribblin' aye the glowin' sonnet,
 And in Nature's wilds apart
Liftin' noo an' then his bonnet,
 In the homage o' his heart.

For to him were mountains hoary,
 Towerin' trees, an' dashin' spring,
Fu' o' majesty an' glory
 O' earth's everlastin' King.
Sweet it was to see him wander
 When he thocht nae saul was nigh,
An' his een flashed bright an' tender
 Wi' enthusiastic joy.

Bonnie was his een's saft glancin',
 Bright their dreamy hazel hue,
Sunny were the licht curls dancin'
 O'er his smooth an' thochtfu' broo;
Warm his smile, yet unco blate aye,
 When he cracked wi' freen's o' yore,
Wha' his talents roosed an' spae'd aye,
 As the gossips spae'd afore.

Aye they said the wee bit clachan
 Was nae place for Allan's fame—
Silly coofs micht fa' a lauchin'—
 But he maun awa frae hame:
Far awa' to Lunnon city,
 Whar his genius wad expand,
Whar to talented an' witty
 Patrons aye held out their hand.

For a wee did Allan swither,
 Fain to gang an' try his fate—
Sweert to sever frae his mither,—
 But at last he's ta'en the gate;
Packit up his brawest duddies,
 WP certificates a score,
Written by weel-wishin' bodies,
 O' his genius an' his lore.

Pass we by the dolefu' mornin'
 When his mither's blessin' fell
On his head, wi' tear draps burnin',
 As he knelt for her farewell.
Pass we o'er his journey weary,
 Hopes aye fadin' to a gleam,
'Mid the city's hum, uncheerie,
 Allan wakes as frae a dream.

Pass we o'er lang weeks o' gangin'
 Lanely through ilk thoroughfare,
Jostled by the folks aye thrangin'—
 Claes an' shoon the waur o' wear;
Sick o' searchin' an' confusion,
 Meeting no ae patron's face,
Coming' to the dread conclusion
 That 'twas a' a wild-goose chase.

Allan, wi' his bosom swellin'
 Hiech wi' longin's and despair,
Thocht upon his mither's dwellin',
 An' the peacefu' comforts there:
Halflins curst his ain ambition,
 Muse, an' a' the bletherin' pack,
Wha he blamed for his condition,
 Far frae hame, wi' scarce a plack.

Whiles he tint a' expectation,
 Faced his weary, hameward way,
Then his mither's mute vexation
 Garr'd him try anither day;
No for freen's o' rhyme to aid him—
 A' sic thochts had flown his head,
But for place, whar wages paid him
 Might procure him daily bread.

---

Part Second.

At a ha' whar doors aye bangin',
 Business, wealth, and bustle mark,
Crowds o' candidates are thrangin',
 Fain to be the "wanted clerk."
'Neath a porch's shadow bidin,
 Frae the lave, wi' downcast een,
Allan shrinks, his shabb'd claes hidin',
 Thankfu' for the darksome screen.

Taint o' heart to mak' the trial,
 Mair inclined to slip awa',
Feelin' sure o' a denial
 'Mangst sic chiels, sae trig an' braw.
Thus he lingered in a swither,
 Till he saw them ane by ane
Enter ae door, by anither
 Grain the street, till a> were gane.

"Noo," quo he, "nae mair thochts on it,
 Allan, ye maun venture ben;
Syne he stauns an' doffs his bonnet
 'Fore the heroes o' the pen.
To an inner door directed,
 Allan moves wi' sullen pride,
For his een hath sneers detected—
 Titters sound on ilka side.

But the mockers quickly tint him,
 For the baze-begirded door,
Slappin' noiselessly ahint him,
 Closed him in their head before.
'Maist dumfounder'd, Allan scanned him,
 Frae his tongue nae words wad fa'.
Till the pleasant "Well, Sir," manned him,
 When he simply told him a'.

Tall the stranger was, and portly,
 Features dignified, yet bland,
Manners affable, yet courtly,
 Like ane used aye to command.
A' his letters, for perusal,
 Allan frae his baggie drew,
But the grand ane's soft refusal
 Came in, "Sorry these won't do."

Wi' a sigh he couldna stifle,
 Allan back his papers took:
Changes aft hang on a trifle—
 Frae his bag keeked out a book,
Quick it caught the maister's glances,
 "What's that book?" he speered fu' keen,
For, though saft, as sharp as laneces,
 On ilk object fell his een.

"'Tis a gift my mither gied me—
 'Tis a Bible," Allan said,
"Which to read ilk morn she bade me,
 An' ilk nicht I gaed to bed."
"'Twas a pious, wise direction,
 Have you followed it, my lad?"
Allan's een brimmed wi' affection's
 Tear draps, as he said he had.

"Good's that guarantee—I trust it;
 Boy, the clerkship's thine to-night,
For where conduct is adjusted
 By that standard, all is right.
Where the heart a mother's holy
 Admonitions can revere,
Where that sacred book is solely
 Made the guide o' life's career,

'Nought but good may be expected,
 Confidence and trust increase,
And you'll joy to have selected
 Wisdom's flow'ry paths of peace."
Allan thocht his senses leavin',
 Turned as white as ony sheet,—
Tae his mouth his tongue was cleavin',
 Felt he could do nought but greet.

For sae sudden the transition
 Tae success frae dire despair,
Sic a change in his position
 Seemed ower much for him to bear.
On that night as back he gazes,
 Tho' lang years hae roiled between,
Still through memory's mists and mazes
 That ae spot glints fresh an' green.

Thankfu'ness ayont revealin'
 Filled his waukrife heart that nicht;
His was ilka gratefu' feelin',
 A' its length, and breadth, and height.
To the village great sensation
 Wi' the news frae Allan came
Truth be told, some felt vexation—
 Wha' e'er found unenvied fame?

Some—the rustics wha advised him—
 Cracked o' nocht but Allan's praise,
Thocht 'twas they first patronised him,
 Gar'd him venture for the bays.
Objects noo than bays mair real
 Allan roused him to pursue,
Nane the waur for the ordeal
 Sage experience dragged him through.

Aft times at his folly lauchin',
 Tho' his wit was dearly boucht,
When the lion o' the clachin'
 Found in Lon'on he was nouncht.
Yet the muse was no discarded;
 Many an hour frae midnicht ta'en
Tell't how he the nymph regarded,
 Deeply worshipped at her fane.

Fu' o' micht as waters rushin'
 O'er the linn, noo soared his lay,
Now dew fresh as roses blushin'
 To the early glance o' day.
E'en the lurkers on Fame's highways,
 Cut-throat bandits, as they're ca'd,
Scourin' e'en the lanes an' byeways
 For the hapless rhymin' squad,

Fierce, on Allan kept frae springin',
 Spellbound by his magic reed,
Whisp'rin aye as he was singin',
 "His is melody indeed."
Sweet, as when a traveller parchin',
 Faint wi' druth an' weary tolil,
'Boon his head the het san scorchin',
 'Neath his feet the burnin' soil,

Sees a bonnie grove afore him,
 Hears far ben a burnie sing,
Feels the breath o' flowers sweep o'er him,
 As he seeks the limpid spring.
Finds sweet soul-revivin' pleasure
 In the breeze, the sward, the shade;
Sae by Allan's ilka measure
 Balm was to the heart conveyed.

Spite o' envy's mutter'd "Puppy,
 Down he'll tumble wi' a clash,"
Allan climb'd the ladder up, aye
 Up to honours, fame, an' cash.