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Poem by Robert Nicoll The Dominie CAM' ye e'er by our toun? Danced ye e'er upon its green? The smeeky hames o' our toun Sae blithesome, ha'e ye ever seen? There's rantin' chields in our toun— The wabster, smith, an' monie mae; But 'mong the lads o' our toun The foremost is the Dominie! 'Bout a' auld-farrant things he kens— The Greeks and bluidy Romans too; An' ithers wi' auld warld names That sairly crook a body's mou'. He kens the places far awa' Where black folk dwall ayont the sea; An' how an' why the starnies shine Is weel kent to the Dominie! Wi' meikle words an' wisdom nods The fleggit fearfu' bairns he rules; An' he can tell the Hebrew names O' aumries an' three-leggit stools! A dead man's skull wi' girnin' teeth Frae out the auld kirkyard has he: For droll an' gey an' fearsome things There's nane can match the Dominie. O' beuks a warld he has read, An' wi' his tongue can fight like mad, Till ither folk he sometimes mak's That they will neither bind nor haud: And if they're dour and winna ding, Their settlin' soon he does them gi'e Wi' words o' queer lang-nebbit speech— Sae learned is the Dominie! There's yon auld soger, wha has been Where oranges like brambles hing,— There's ne'er a ane the clachan o'er Can crack like him 'bout ony thing: They say that wi' the deil he deals!— It may be sae; but even he Maun steek his gab when clinkin' ben At e'enin' comes the Dominie! An' sic a face he does put on On Sabbath when he sings the psalm! The auld wives of the parochin Are thinkin' him a gospel lamb. At weddin's, when the lave are blithe, Wi' auld folk doucely sitteth lie Till Minister an' Elders gang;—, But syne—up bangs the Dominie! Frae cheek to chin—frae lug to lug— The lasses round he kisses a', An' loups an' dances, cracks his thoums, Nor hamewith steers till mornin' daw; An' whiles at e'en to our door cheek He comes an' sleelie winks on me,— Yestreen, ayont the kailyard dyke, I 'greed to wed the Dominie! Robert Nicoll Robert Nicoll's other poems: 1189 Views |
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