Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, RHYMES FOR THE TIMES: 2, by JANET HAMILTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

RHYMES FOR THE TIMES: 2, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Ae day short syne, when gaun afiel
Last Line: This mission's yours—obey the call.
Alternate Author Name(s): Hamilton, Janet Thompson
Subject(s): Rhyme; Time


AE day short syne, when gaun afiel,
A douce aul' farrant eldrin chiel
Cam' yont the burn tae hae a crack,
For John an' me hae lang been pack.
Quo he, Thir's unco times we leeve in,
There's muckle dune, ance past believin'.
Hae ye no heard in Glasgow College
They've plantit a new tree o' knowledge?
The frute's fu' bonny to the e'e,
An' woman's no forbid tae pree:
Sae she may cum without presumption,
An' pu' an' eat, an' gather gumption.
An' sic lang-wint, lang-nebbit cracks,
'Bout social rights, an' rangs, an' facts,
Frae chiels wi' tongues sae glib an' snell,
They tingilit thro' ye like a bell.
There's mony a phase o' speech an' thocht
Leuks gran', but whan its to be wrocht,
An' practice, 'stead o' speech begins,
There's stumlin'-blocks to break oor shins,
Ower whilk we'll stacher, stoit, and tummle,
Syne juist sit doon an' glunch an' grumil.
Speech is a tree that bears nae frute,
Till delvit and dungit aboot the rute.
The yird weel loosit an' labourit, syne
Leuk for a crap, baith big an' fine,
Whan words an' wark mak' firm alliance,
Then social duty's social science.

An' noo that we hae dune wi' speakin',
Fie let us to the wark be streekin'.
Aff wi' yer coat, up wi' yer sleeves,
Set doon yer feet, an' ply yer neeves.
On, on, nae stannin' still nor jaukin',
Oor wark's ahin, hae dune wi' taukin';
For that's ane o' the richts o' woman,
I houp her gude time's nearer comin'—
Hech, there's a warl o' work afore her,
An' Heaven an' yirth are leukin' o'er her.
Noo, John, quo I, haud aff oor taes,
A woman best kens woman's ways:
There's ae thing she can hardly name,
A thing o' filth an' sin an' shame;
To chack that ugsume kin' o' sinnin',
She maun begin at the beginnin'.
Nae lassie ere was born on yirth,
But Nature gied her, at her birth,
A shrinkin', shame-faced, modest pride.
Her baith as bairn an' maid to guide.
O mithers, guard this precious sense—
This bashfu' modesty an' mense,
Sae sweet, but oh, ower scarce to see!
Yer warnin' words, an' watchfu' e'e,
Sood never lea' them lang their lanes,
Wi' ill brocht up, ill deedie weans.
An' cleed their limbs wi' decent claes,
A gey bit nearer to the taes,
An' aye the guileless bonny burds
Keep frae a' shamefu' sichts an' words.
Ay, mithers, ye hae muckle mair
To gie yer bairns than schulin'lear;
At schule ye like to see them braw,
Wi' peenie white as drifted snaw,
An' hoopit coatie, short an' wide,
An' curls that hing on ilka side
O' rosy cheeks an' lauchin' e'en,
An' a' aboot them snod an' clean.
This ye may dae, but let the min'
An' wee bit hertie, saft an' kin',
The mither's anxious luve an' care,
An' eident teachin' foremaist share,
An' let yer cares aye deeper grup
Whan they to maidhood are grown up,
An' tho' the wark war ne'er sae thrang,
Ken wha they're wi', an' whaur they gang.
Be to yer duty leal an' true,
An' sood ye fail, nae blame to you.

There's been an unco tauk an' fyke
'Boot women's wark, an' things sic like.
The shooster lasses, save the mark!
They sae sood hae the shopman's wark,
An' sort the teeps, an' wield the pen,
An blackneb on the workin' men.
An' sood they get the pay an' place
Men used to hae, they'll hae the grace,
By their glib mouth-piece Bessie Park,
To tell the chiels whaur they'll get wark;
They canna dig, to beg think shame,
They'll list or seek a foreign hame.
Noo, lasses, I wad hae ye ken,
To herry oot the nice young men
Is no' the gate to win their favour.
By thrifty, modest, quiet behaviour,
A wheen o' ye micht aiblins share
A' that they wurk for evermair.
An' are we cum to sic a pass
That wark an' meat for mony a lass
Can no' be had in oor bit islan',
But by her health or morals spoilin'?
Then let ilk toun oot thro' the nation
Subscribe for female emigration,
To tak' them far frae wants an' harms,
To lan's whaur woman's presence charms
An' blesses men, whase lanely lives
An' lanely hames hae need o' wives.

Ae word to speechifyin' weemen,
That's no aye sleepin' whan they're dreamin',
Aye takin' up puir woman's quarrels,
Let your first care be woman's morals;
For social ills, an' deeds impure,
Prevention easier is than cure.
Help mithers wi' their maiden charge,
Help lasses coosten oot at large
Upon a warl' baith caul an' stern,
Wi' muckle baith to thole an' learn.
An' since ye've time an' win' to spare,
Them baith on sister woman ware,
To touch her heart an' teach her saul,
This mission's yours—obey the call.





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