Selected Poetry.

Evening Star, Issue 3253, 24 July 1873, Page 3

Selected Poetry.

WHAT AILS YE AT THE OEGAN, GEANNY? JAMIE. What’s wrang wi’ ye, again, Granny ? What gi»s yer bosom pain, Granny? What gars ye lift yer tremblin’ voice In sic a clowic strain, Granny ? GUANNY. I’m no so vreel the day, Jamie ; I’m angry, an I’m wae, Jamie ; That organ’s bnmmin’ i’ my lug, An’ what am I to dae, Jamie ? JAMIE. Oh tak a bairn’s advice, Granny, The organ ne’er despise, Granny; The reign o’ Bigotry’s gane by, Consent if ye’d be wise, Granny. GRANNY. Sic “innovations” rash, Jamie, Sic hurdy-gurdy trash, Jamie, Sail ne’er get mj guidwill, my mon, An’ say he needna fash, Jamie. JAMIE. Look owre yer wa’s yincc raair, Granny, See Progress sprcadin’ rare, Granny. Nae frcezin’ canldness checks her growth, She blooms without compare, Granny. GRANNY. In days o’ auld langsjme, Jamie, When I was in my prime, Jamie, Nae grindin’ whirligigs were praised By ony bairn o’ mine, Jamie. JAMIE. Dinna hing yer broo, Granny. Auld langsyne’s no noo, Granny; Better far the organ’s swell, Than rowting like a coo, Granny ! . GRANNY. Troth that's the truth ye say, Jamie ; Oh what am I to dae, Jamie ! I’m switherin’ noo, for sense proclaim* I canna sae ye nae Jamie. JAMIE. Nae drones, wi’ dismal twang, Granny, Were heard when David sang, Granny, But timbrel, sacbut, harp an’ horn, Resounded loud and lang, Granny! GRANNY, Ye’ve stown my heart awa’, Jamie ; Hae ! there’s my hand an’ a’ Jamie : Sour Prejudice may tak’ the road— E’en let the organ blaw, J amie !