Robert Anderson

1770-1833 / Scotland

Ruth

The crackets were chirping on the hearth;
Our wife reel'd gairn, and sat i'th' nuik;
I tuik a whiff o' my cutty black peype;
Lal Dick by fire--leet plied his buik;
The youngermer bairns at heeds and cross,
Sat laikin merrily in a row;
The wind clash'd tui the entry duir,
And down the chimney fell the snow.

'O! says our weyfe, then fetch'd a seegh,
'Guidman, we sud reet thankfu' be!
'How monie a scwore this angry neet,
'Wad like to sit wi' tee and me;
'Sae wad our dowter Ruth, I trow,
'A silly peer luckless bairn she's been;
'For her, nae day gangs owre my head,
'But painfu' tears gush frae my een.

'She aye was honest and weel to see,
'I sayt--she hed nae faut but yen--
'She off wid a taistrel sowdger lad,
'And niver yence sent the scribe of a pen:
'O man! we sud forget and forgive;
'The brute beast for its awn 'll feel;
'Were mine awt' warl, ay ten times mair,
'I'd gi'e't to see her alive and weel.

'Whea kens, peer thing! what she's endur'd,
'Sin that sad hour she left her heame;
'Thou turn'd her out; it hurt me sair,
'And aw our neibors cried out shem.'
Here stopped our weyfe, and shuik her head,
While tears ran tricklin down her cheek;
I fan the truth o' what she said,
But deil a word cud owther speak.

Just then the latch was lifted up;
'Ay, that's a boggle,!' cried out lal Ann;
In bounc'd my bairn, and, at my feet,
Cried, 'O, forgi'e me!--here's my guidman!'
Our dame she shriek'd, and dropp'd her wark;
I bless'd them beath--the bairns were fain;
We talk'd the stormy neet away,
And, God be prais'd, we've met again!
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