Select Poetry.

Evening Star, Issue 3054, 2 December 1872, Page 3

Select Poetry.

The following is one of those intensely tieobite effusions of the last century, le authority of which,has never been fknowledgecl. It is the piece for the ’citation of Avhich Mr Gallon tier oilers a at the Caledon ion Society’s eompetion: — ‘THE WEE, WEE GERMAN LAIRDIE.” Wha the d—l hae we gotten for a thing, But a wee, wee German Lairdie ; When we gaed over to bring him hams, He was delvin' in his kaU-yardie He was shuglung kail and laying leeks, Without the hose and but the breeks, And up his beggar duds he clocks, This wee, wee German Lairdie. And he’s clappit down in gudeman’s chair, The wee, wee German Lairdie ; And he’s brought fouth o’ his foreign trash And dibbled them in his yardio. He's pu’d the the rose of English loons. And broken the harp o’ Irish clowns. But our Scotch thistle will jog his thumbs, This wee, wee German Lairdie. Come up amnng our Hieland hills, Thou wee, wee German Lairdie, And aec the Stuart’s lang kail thrive, They iiac dibbled in our Jkail-yardio, And if a stock yc daur to pu’, Or baud the yokin’ o’ a plough, We’ll break your sceptre ower your mou’ Ye feckless German Lairdie. Auld Scotland, thou’rt owre cauM a hole, For nursin’ siccan vermin ; But the very d,ogu in England’s Court They bark uinl ho\vl in Gorman. Thou keep thy dibble in thy ain ban’, Thy spade hot nnd;i\vy yardie ; For wha the d-1 now claims your la,u\ But a wee, wee German Lair die..