TAM M'GERRIE: A TEMPERANCE DITTY.

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 136, 15 September 1870, Page 7

TAM M'GERRIE: A TEMPERANCE DITTY.

HIS RESOLVE. I am in a ragin' fever, Oh, this drouth is sair to bide, An' I hinna got a stiver In this bounteous world wide. 1 am thinkin', ever thinkin', O' the anguish and the pain, Caused by that obnoxious drinkin' ; But I'll ne'er get drunk again. It's thrice distill'd damnation, It's puir auld Scotland's curse, It will lead us to starvation, An' it wrecks the mind and purse. Yes, it ruins soul and body, An' sears the brichtest brain ; But adieu to ale and toddy, I will ne'er be fou again. Wi' the help o' the All-seem', To keep my word I'll try ; But I'm sic a wierdless bein' When my thrapple ance gets dry. We are thochtless mortals ever, We self -blinded sons o' men, An' I ance was thocht so clever, But I'll ne'er get drunk again. For I spent my hinmosi fraction In the public-hoose yestreen, An' ye powers this keen reaction It will be my death I ween. I'm hirplin, and I'm cripplin', On my nose a blood-red stain, An' it's jist a' through my tippUn', But I'll neer be fou again. Yes, by a' that's high and holy— That's a solemn aith to swear — 1 dee boo see through my folly, An" abjure the cursed beer. For gw.eed kens I'd soon be coatless, Though I ance could boast O* ten, An' already I am groatless, But I'll ne'er get drunk again. Though my coat be auld and tatter't, Wi' a new ane it will men', Though my hat be auld and hatter't, To dee weel I now inten'. To retract is my intention, But the way to hell ye ken, Jt is paved- but dinna mention — I will ne'er be fou again. An' I yet may win ihe laurels That should bjnd the poet's broo, But I fear the critics' snarls Would be launch't upon me noo. Yet I care not for their sneerin', I can lasb them wi' my pen, Since I've noo gi'en up the beerin', An' I'll ne'er get drunk again. There's nae man can gi'e me sentence, Since the Lord did plainly show, To call sinners to repentence, Was His mission here below. Hope is planted in my bosom, And I every nerve will strain, That the good seeds yet may blossom, An' I'll ne'er get fou again.

HIS AFTER FATE. See yon tidy little biggin", its windows clear as day, "Whaur the birdies on the riggin, Warble forth their tender lay. Hai-k how blythely they are singin', How I love their merry strain. It is nature's voice that's ringin', " I've bf ought summer back again." An' the cocks are proodly crawin', As in answer to the krk, An' the nowt, their cuds are chawitf In yon verdano gowany park. An' the cat his face is washin' As he squats upon the floor, An' the burnie's gently spl&shin* As it dances past the door. See 3'on children red and rosy, Chasing bumbees on the green, Noo assembled in a posy, For a victim has been ta'en. Sic a scene 0' rural pleasure, It maks glad the heart to see, While I view't wi' tranquil leisure, Tears o' gladness dim my cc. Its sac like a dreamy vision, But I'm surely nae asleep, I will mak' a slicht incision. On my han' — nae vera deep. Noo, behold the 1 ed-blood streainin', What a crimson little rill, Noo, I ken I am not dreamin', For I see the cottage still. Ye will mind on Tarn M'Gerrie, Wha ance swore, and nae in vain, That he'd ne*er again be beery, And he's ne'er been drunk again. That's the cot o' Tarn the drouthy, Since he's kept his manly voo ; He has got a helpmate couthy, And he's ne'er again been fou. Yon's his bairnies wha are racing' Helter-skelter on the lea, Wha the butterflees are chasing' Wi' sic ardour and sic glee. Hoo I love their childish prattle, Hoo I like their gleesome din ; Yon's his poultry and his cattle, And his wife she'll be within. He's regained his manly beauty ; He is stalwart, stout, and strong ! And noo, temperance, love, and duty, Are the subjects o' his song. He may ne'er attain the glory True, for which the bard doth strive, But in song and homely story His dear name will lang survive. He is honored and lespected ; Yes, of course, and so he ought. By the great I AM piotected, He a noble fight has fought.