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Alec Forbes of Howglen
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"THE LAST WOOING,"
said Annie, all at once, and went on:
"O lat me in, my bonny lass!
It's a lang road ower the hill;
And the flauchterin' snaw began to fa',
As I cam by the mill."
"This is nae change-hoose, John Munro,
And ye needna come nae mair:
Ye crookit yer mou', and lichtlied me,
Last Wednesday, at the fair."
"I lichtlied ye!" "Aboon the glass."
"Foul-fa' the ill-faured mouth
That made the leein' word to pass,
By rowin' 't (wrapping) in the truth.
The fac' was this: I dochtna bide
To hear yer bonnie name,
Whaur muckle mous war opened wide
Wi' lawless mirth and shame.
And a' I said was: 'Hoot! lat sit;
She's but a bairn, the lass.'
It turned the spait (flood) o' words a bit,
And loot yer fair name pass."
"Thank ye for naething, John Munro!
My name can gang or bide;
It's no a sough o' drucken words
Wad turn my heid aside."
"O Elsie, lassie o' my ain!
The drift is cauld and strang;
O tak me in ae hour, and syne
I'll gather me and gang."
"Ye're guid at fleechin' (wheedling), Jock Munro.
For ye heedna fause and true:
Gang in to Katie at the Mill,
She lo'es sic like as you."
He turned his fit; he spak nae mair.
The lift was like to fa';
And Elsie's heart grew grit and sair (big and sore),
At sicht o' the drivin' snaw.
She laid her doun, but no to sleep,
For her verra heart was cauld;
And the sheets war like a frozen heap
O' snaw aboot her faul'd.
She rase fu' ear'. And a' theroot
Was ae braid windin' sheet;
At the door-sill, or winnock-lug (window-corner),
Was never a mark o' feet.
She crap a' day aboot the hoose,
Slow-fittit and hert-sair,
Aye keekin' oot like a frichtit moose,—
But Johnnie cam nae mair!
When saft the thow begud to melt
Awa' the ghaistly snaw,
Her hert was safter nor the thow,
Her pride had ta'en a fa.'
And she oot ower the hill wad gang,
Whaur the sun was blinkin' bonnie,
To see his auld minnie (mother) in her cot,
And speir aboot her Johnnie.
But as alang the hill she gaed,
Through snaw und slush and weet,
She stoppit wi' a chokin' cry—
'Twas Johnnie at her feet.
His heid was smoored aneath the snaw,
But his breist was maistly bare;
And 'twixt his breist and his richt han',
He claisp't a lock o' hair.
'Twas gowden hair: she kent it weel.
Alack, the sobs and sighs!
The warm win' blew, the laverock flew,
But Johnnie wadna rise.
The spring cam ower the wastlin (westward) hill,
And the frost it fled awa';
And the green grass luikit smilin' up,
Nane the waur for a' the snaw.
And saft it grew on Johnnie's grave,
Whaur deep the sunshine lay;
But, lang or that, on Elsie's heid
The gowden hair was gray.
Другие электронные книги автора George MacDonald
Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
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