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The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2
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Ye burn hert and brain;
And dertin and daurin,
Flee back to yer ain!
Ye wee minor prophet,
It's 'maist my belief
'At I'm doon in Tophet,
And you abune grief!
Ye've deavt me and daudit
And ca'd me a fule:
I'm nearhan' persuaudit
To gang to your schule!
For, birdie, I'm thinkin
Ye ken mair nor me—
Gien ye haena been drinkin,
And sing as ye see.
Ye maun hae a sicht 'at
Sees gay and far ben,
And a hert, for the micht o' 't,
Wad sair for nine men!
There's somebody's been til
Roun saft to ye wha
Said birdies are seen til,
And e'en whan they fa'!
GODLY BALLANTS
I.—THIS SIDE AN' THAT
The rich man sat in his father's seat—
Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine!
The puir man lay at his yett i' the street—
Sairs an' tatters, an' weary pine!
To the rich man's table ilk dainty comes,
Mony a morsel gaed frae't, or fell;
The puir man fain wud hae dined on the crumbs,
But whether he got them I canna tell.
Servants prood, saft-fittit, an' stoot,
Stan by the rich man's curtained doors;
Maisterless dogs 'at rin aboot
Cam to the puir man an' lickit his sores.
The rich man deeit, an' they buried him gran',
In linen fine his body they wrap;
But the angels tuik up the beggar man,
An' layit him doun in Abraham's lap.
The guid upo' this side, the ill upo' that—
Sic was the rich man's waesome fa'!
But his brithers they eat, an' they drink, an' they chat,
An' carena a strae for their Father's ha'!
The trowth's the trowth, think what ye will;
An' some they kenna what they wad be at;
But the beggar man thoucht he did no that ill,
Wi' the dogs o' this side, the angels o' that!
II.—THE TWA BAUBEES
Stately, lang-robit, an' steppin at ease,
The rich men gaed up the temple ha';
Hasty, an' grippin her twa baubees,
The widow cam efter, booit an' sma'.
Their goud rang lood as it fell, an' lay
Yallow an' glintin, bonnie an' braw;
But the fowk roun the Maister h'ard him say
The puir body's baubees was mair nor it a'.
III.—WHA'S MY NEIBOUR?
Doon frae Jerus'lem a traveller took
The laigh road to Jericho;
It had an ill name an' mony a crook,
It was lang an' unco how.
Oot cam the robbers, an' fell o' the man,
An' knockit him o' the heid,
Took a' whauron they couth lay their han',
An' left him nakit for deid.
By cam a minister o' the kirk:
"A sair mishanter!" he cried;
"Wha kens whaur the villains may lirk!
I s' haud to the ither side!"
By cam an elder o' the kirk;
Like a young horse he shied:
"Fie! here's a bonnie mornin's wark!"
An' he spangt to the ither side.
By cam ane gaed to the wrang kirk;
Douce he trottit alang.
"Puir body!" he cried, an' wi' a yerk
And dertin and daurin,
Flee back to yer ain!
Ye wee minor prophet,
It's 'maist my belief
'At I'm doon in Tophet,
And you abune grief!
Ye've deavt me and daudit
And ca'd me a fule:
I'm nearhan' persuaudit
To gang to your schule!
For, birdie, I'm thinkin
Ye ken mair nor me—
Gien ye haena been drinkin,
And sing as ye see.
Ye maun hae a sicht 'at
Sees gay and far ben,
And a hert, for the micht o' 't,
Wad sair for nine men!
There's somebody's been til
Roun saft to ye wha
Said birdies are seen til,
And e'en whan they fa'!
GODLY BALLANTS
I.—THIS SIDE AN' THAT
The rich man sat in his father's seat—
Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine!
The puir man lay at his yett i' the street—
Sairs an' tatters, an' weary pine!
To the rich man's table ilk dainty comes,
Mony a morsel gaed frae't, or fell;
The puir man fain wud hae dined on the crumbs,
But whether he got them I canna tell.
Servants prood, saft-fittit, an' stoot,
Stan by the rich man's curtained doors;
Maisterless dogs 'at rin aboot
Cam to the puir man an' lickit his sores.
The rich man deeit, an' they buried him gran',
In linen fine his body they wrap;
But the angels tuik up the beggar man,
An' layit him doun in Abraham's lap.
The guid upo' this side, the ill upo' that—
Sic was the rich man's waesome fa'!
But his brithers they eat, an' they drink, an' they chat,
An' carena a strae for their Father's ha'!
The trowth's the trowth, think what ye will;
An' some they kenna what they wad be at;
But the beggar man thoucht he did no that ill,
Wi' the dogs o' this side, the angels o' that!
II.—THE TWA BAUBEES
Stately, lang-robit, an' steppin at ease,
The rich men gaed up the temple ha';
Hasty, an' grippin her twa baubees,
The widow cam efter, booit an' sma'.
Their goud rang lood as it fell, an' lay
Yallow an' glintin, bonnie an' braw;
But the fowk roun the Maister h'ard him say
The puir body's baubees was mair nor it a'.
III.—WHA'S MY NEIBOUR?
Doon frae Jerus'lem a traveller took
The laigh road to Jericho;
It had an ill name an' mony a crook,
It was lang an' unco how.
Oot cam the robbers, an' fell o' the man,
An' knockit him o' the heid,
Took a' whauron they couth lay their han',
An' left him nakit for deid.
By cam a minister o' the kirk:
"A sair mishanter!" he cried;
"Wha kens whaur the villains may lirk!
I s' haud to the ither side!"
By cam an elder o' the kirk;
Like a young horse he shied:
"Fie! here's a bonnie mornin's wark!"
An' he spangt to the ither side.
By cam ane gaed to the wrang kirk;
Douce he trottit alang.
"Puir body!" he cried, an' wi' a yerk
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