A CLEVER young dominie—noo in a kirk— Was keepin' a schule near to auld Grannie Mirk— A couthie auld grannie as e'er ye micht fin', She wadna be idle, though feckly gane blin'. Her heid was weel stockit wi' guid common-sense— In ilk thing she did there was kindness an' mense; To clashes an' clavers she wadna gae heed, But ne'er was she hainin' to bodies in need. Whan bairnies to schule wad come dreepin' wi' rain, She dried the wat duds o' ilk puir drookit wean; At her weel-beetit fire and cozie fire-en' She gather'd the bairns like an auld clockin'-hen. An' aft at twal'-oors, to auld grannie's fireside, The dominie cam' for a weeock to bide; A crumpie ait farle, wi' butter weel spread, She gi'ed him, an' wow but the chappie was glad. Oor grannie was juist a real auld-warl' wife, An' butter'd her cakes wi' an auld-fashion'd knife, An' that was nae ither but grannie's ain thoom; But the chiel bein' yaup ne'er thocht o' the coom. Noo the schule it is skail'd, an' grannie's gane hame, An' the dominie's eekit D.D. to his name; An' lang may he bruck a' the honours he's won, The goal be as bricht as the race he has run. |