AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF THE BAREFIT LAIRD. 'TWAS Foorsday, an' the blinding drift Cam' swurling frae the murky lift, An' Hittock's course thro' Freeland Glen Lay wreathed an' hid frae mortal ken. But tho' in winter's fleecy gear The kintry round lay sad an' drear, In yon snug cot beside the burn Nae face look'd sad, nae heart did mourn, When 'twas declar'd a son was born To the douce Barefit Laird that morn. The laird -- a man o' upright heart -- Was fain to act a faither's part; To do as his guid sires had dune, An' hae the bairnie christen'd sune By ane wha taught wi' heart an' will, Like Cameron, Renwick, and Cargill. But in the westland congregation There was twa Sabbaths o' vacation, Whilk was owre lang for ane sae douce To keep a heathen in his hoose. Aft had he heard his gutcher tell O' bairnies bound wi' elfin spell, That werena o' kirk rites possess'd, An' by a holy pastor bless'd; Forbye, the guidwife erst had seen A fairy form attired in green, An' as it gade its mystic round Had aften glintit at Rosemound. Sae ere sax suns did rise an' set, Their bairnie christen'd they maun get. Soon as the Sabbath morning broke, The wean was dress'd in 's christening frock, His mou' was moisten'd weel wi' toddy By Meg, the ancient clachan howdie, And then consign'd to Nannie's care, Wha maun wi't to the kirk repair. She row'd it in a pirnie plaid, An' wi' the guid laird by her side, Weel 'fended by his hodden greys, They soon were speelin' Cathkin Braes. Belyve in auld Saint Mungo's toon, Awhile they wander'd up an' doon, Till that they found a grave Divine (Ane o' the Covenanting line), Wha scorn'd to feed the soul that yearns For pastures green on blastit birns. Before his congregation sune The sacred rite was duly dune; Syne Nannie an' the laird bedeen, Wi' licht hearts hameward cross'd the Green; Tho' dour the wind, an' deep the snaw, They murmur'd na', but trudg'd awa'; An' after strooslein' hard an' sair, Unskath'd they reach'd Rosemound ance mair. The leal guidwife, wi' prudent care, A mensfu' blythemeat did prepare, In honour o' the sweet wee treasure That garr'd her bosom glow wi' pleasure. As weel beseem'd that loved retreat, The day was closed wi' converse meet; An' free o' ostentatious airs, Arose to heaven their evening prayers. A' ye wha o'er Fame's brawling flood Loudly proclaim your deeds o' guid, Yet canna see that truth an' beauty Lie in the sober path of duty, On Time's muck-midden fling your pride, An' cast your canting zeal aside; Be for ilk worthy act prepared To imitate the Barefit Laird. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVER IN HELL by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET A POEM FROM BOULDER RIDGE by JAMES GALVIN MY HAPPINESS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO NANNETTE FALK-AUERBACH by SIDNEY LANIER THE MARRIAGE (1) by TIMOTHY LIU |