The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 19, No. 533, February 11, 1832

THE TWA BURDIES.

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD

When the winter day had past an' gane,
Twa wee burdies came into our hearth stane;
An' they lookit a'round them wi' little din,
As if they had living souls within.

"O, bonny burdies, come tell to me
If ye are twa burdies o' this countrye?
An' where ye were gaun when ye tint your gate,
A-winging the winter shower sae late?"

"We are cauld, we are cauld—ye maun let us bide,
For our father's gane, an' our mother's a bride:
But in her bride's bed though she be,
We would rather cour on the earth wi' thee!"

"O, bonny burdies, my heart is sair
To see twa motherless broods sae fair.
But flee away, burdies! flee away!
For I darenae bide wi' you till day."

"Ye maun let us bide till our feathers dry,
For the time of our trial's drawing nigh.
A voice will call at the hour eleven,
An' a naked sword appear in heaven!

"There's an offering to make, but not by men,
On altar as white as the snow of the glen—
There's a choice to be made, and a vow to pay,
And blood to spill ere the break of day."

"O, tell me, beings of marvellous birth,
If ye are twa creatures of heaven or earth?
For ye look an' ye speak, I watnae how—
But I'm fear'd, I'm fear'd, little burdies for you!"

"Ye needna be fear'd, for it's no our part
To injure the kind and the humble heart;
And those whose trust is in heaven high,
The Angel of God will aye be nigh.

We were twa sisters bred in a bower,
As gay as the lark an' as fair as the flower;
But few of the ills of this world we proved,
Till we were slain by the hands we loved.

Our bodies into the brake were flung,
To feed the hawks and the ravens young;
And there our little bones reclined,
And white they bleach'd in the winter wind.

Our youngest sister found them there,
And wiped them clean wi' her yellow hair;
And every day she sits and grieves,
And covers them o'er wi' the wabron leaves.

Then our twin souls they sought the sky,
And were welcome guests in the heavens high;
And we gat our choice through all the spheres
What lives to lead for a thousand years.

Then humble, old matron, lend us thine aid,
For this night the choice is to be made;
And we have sought thy lowly hearth
For the last advice thou giv'st on earth.

Say, shall we skim o'er this earth below,
Beholding its scenes of joy and woe;
And try to reward the virtuous heart,
And make the unjust and the sinner smart?

Or shall we choose the star of love,
In a holy twilight still to move;
Or fly to frolic, light and boon,
On the silver mountains of the moon?

O, tell us, for we hae nane beside!
Our daddy's gane, and our mammy's a bride.
She is blitliely laid in her bridal sheet,
But a spirit stands at her bed feet.

Ay, though she be laid in her bridal bed,
There is guiltless blood upon her head;
And on her soul the hue of a crime,
That will never wash out till the end of time.

Advise, advise! dear matron, advise!
For you are humble, devout, and wise.
We ask a last advice from you—
Our hour is come—what shall we do?"

"O, wondrous creatures, ye maun allow
I naething can ken of beings like you;
But ere the voice calls at eleven,
Go ask your Father who is in heaven."