Robert Louis Stevenson; a Bookman extra number 1913/Scotland's Lament
SCOTLAND'S LAMENT[1]
By Sir J. M. Barrie
Her hands upon her brows are pressed,
She goes upon her knees to pray,
Her head is bowed upon her breast,
And, oh, she's sairly failed the day.
She goes upon her knees to pray,
Her head is bowed upon her breast,
And, oh, she's sairly failed the day.
Her breast is old, it will not rise,
Her tearless sobs in anguish choke,
God put His finger on her eyes,
And then it was her tears that spoke.
Her tearless sobs in anguish choke,
God put His finger on her eyes,
And then it was her tears that spoke.
"I've ha'en o' brawer sons a flow,
My Walter mair renown could win,
And he that followed at the plough,
But Louis was my Benjamin.
My Walter mair renown could win,
And he that followed at the plough,
But Louis was my Benjamin.
"Ye sons wha do your little best,
Ye writing Scots, put by the pen,
He's deid, the ane abune the rest,
I winna look at write again.
Ye writing Scots, put by the pen,
He's deid, the ane abune the rest,
I winna look at write again.
"It's sune the leave their childhood drap,
I've ill to ken them, gaen sae grey,
But aye he climbed intil my lap,
Or pu'd my coats to make me play.
I've ill to ken them, gaen sae grey,
But aye he climbed intil my lap,
Or pu'd my coats to make me play.
"He egged me on wi' mirth and prank,
We hangit gowans on a string,
We made the doakens walk the plank,
We mairit snails withoot the ring.
We hangit gowans on a string,
We made the doakens walk the plank,
We mairit snails withoot the ring.
"'I'm auld,' I pant, 'sic ploys to mak,
To games your mither shouldna stoup,'
'You're gey and aul',' he cries me back,
'That's fou I like to gar you loup!'
To games your mither shouldna stoup,'
'You're gey and aul',' he cries me back,
'That's fou I like to gar you loup!'
"O' thae bit ploys he made sic books,
A' mithers cam to watch us playing;
I feignèd no to heed their looks,
But fine I kent what they was saying!
A' mithers cam to watch us playing;
I feignèd no to heed their looks,
But fine I kent what they was saying!
"At times I lent him for a game
To north and south and east and west,
But no for lang, he sune cam hame,
For here it was he played the best.
To north and south and east and west,
But no for lang, he sune cam hame,
For here it was he played the best.
"And when he had to cross the sea
He wouldna lat his een grow dim,
He bravely dree'd his weird for me,
I tried to do the same for him.
He wouldna lat his een grow dim,
He bravely dree'd his weird for me,
I tried to do the same for him.
"Ahint his face his pain was sair,
Ahint hers grat his waefu' mither,
We kent that we should meet nae mair,
The ane saw easy thro' the ither.
Ahint hers grat his waefu' mither,
We kent that we should meet nae mair,
The ane saw easy thro' the ither.
"For lang I've watched wi' trem'ling lip,
But Louis ne'er sin syne I've seen,
The greedy island keept its grip,
The cauldriff oceans rolled at ween.
But Louis ne'er sin syne I've seen,
The greedy island keept its grip,
The cauldriff oceans rolled at ween.
"He's deid, the ane abune the rest,
Oh, wae, the mither left alane!
He's deid, the ane I loo'ed the best,
Oh, mayna I hae back my nain!"
Oh, wae, the mither left alane!
He's deid, the ane I loo'ed the best,
Oh, mayna I hae back my nain!"
Her breast is old it will not rise,
Her tearless sobs in anguish choke,
God put his finger on her eyes,
It was her tears alone that spoke.
Her tearless sobs in anguish choke,
God put his finger on her eyes,
It was her tears alone that spoke.
Now out the lights went stime by stime,
The towns crept closer round the kirk,
Now all the firths were smored in rime,
Lost winds went wailing thro' the mirk.
The towns crept closer round the kirk,
Now all the firths were smored in rime,
Lost winds went wailing thro' the mirk.
A star that shot across the night
Struck fire on Pala's mourning head,
And left for aye a steadfast light,
By which the mother guards her dead.
Struck fire on Pala's mourning head,
And left for aye a steadfast light,
By which the mother guards her dead.
"The lad was mine!" Erect she stands,
No more by vain regrets oppress't,
Once more her eyes are clear; her hands
Are proudly crossed upon her breast.
No more by vain regrets oppress't,
Once more her eyes are clear; her hands
Are proudly crossed upon her breast.
- ↑ All rights reserved. First published in The Bookman, January, 1895.