Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, I'LL SING MY SANG WHATE'ER BETIDE, by JAMES SMITH (1824-)



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I'LL SING MY SANG WHATE'ER BETIDE, by            
First Line: Oh, what reck I tho' poortith's blast
Last Line: An' sing my sang whate'er betide.
Subject(s): Singing & Singers


OH, what reck I tho' Poortith's blast
Blaws owre my biggin', cauld and keen?
An' what tho' kind and generous hearts
Are no sae rife as they hae been?
Tho' selfish Greed an' crabbit Spleen
Stand gloomy glowerin' side by side;
Yet cantily I'll play a spring,
An' sing my sang whate'er betide!

This warl's nae weary bed o' thorns,
For a' the dolefu' moan that's made;
Yon sun that shines on silken braws,
Blinks cheery on my auld grey plaid!
Sour Discontent shrinks back dismay'd,
When heart loups high wi' sturdy pride;
Sae cantily I'll play a spring,
An' sing my sang whate'er betide.

My housie's nae great boast I trow --
A wee wee but -- a wee wee ben;
Yet lauchin' face maks denty ha',
An' that's what lordies seldom ken.
Wi' wife an' weans I blithely fen',
As doun Life's stream we saftly glide;
Sae cantily I'll play a spring,
An' sing my sang whate'er betide!

Despondency's a beggar born --
Lang may his back be at the wa'! --
Yet gin he daur to show his pow,
My chanter I'll the louder blaw! --
The darkest nicht brings aye the daw:
The thistle has its downy side;
Sae cantily I'll play a spring,
An' sing my sang whate'er betide!

Puir dowie chield, that's skin an' bane
Wi' nocht but borrow'd misery --
Wha canna pree the gowden joys
That bloom 'neath Freedom's rosy sky;
Greet out your fill; I carena by,
Tho' fools may sneer, an' gowks deride;
I'll play wi' pith a canty spring,
An' sing my sang whate'er betide.





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