A Peetieful Story
Stewart, William
Published 1909
A Peetiful Story
Ye rich folk an pör folk come draw mair near me
An list ta da story I hae fir ta tell,
An hock oot your hankies an mourn whin you hear me
Describin da evils at on me befell.
My hert aince wis light as da hungriest scorie
At e’er glaepit wirms ower da delled land in Voar,
An da cause o da change, if you'll jöst hear my story
You’ll ken whan I’m dön, if you’re no heard afore.
I aince wis a fule, O! Göd kens dat da truth is!
An mony a daft deed has been laid ta my chairge.
You ken what da haet blöd, an foaly o youth is,
It’s madderim an tricks, sae I needna enlairge.
Bit dis I can say tho my name wis a tö-tak.
My hert wis aye happy by night an by day,
Till sorrow o’er poored laek da smoor o da baa-brak
An packit my sowl i da mire an da clay.
Twas da boannie blue e’en o auld Tammas Tait’s Mally,
Dey smiled on me sweetly, sae tender an kind.
Dey raumished my sleep an dey hindered my swally
An touchts o dem near drave me wrang i me mind.
She saidna a wird, bit she smiled whan I towld her,
(It’s little she’d smiled if she’d felt as I felt)
Bit I, in her smile growin bowlder an bowlder
Aye efter her gied laek da very “Ill Helt”.
Fir Mally’s dat boannie, dey’re naebody laek her,
Her waist is sae neat an her feet der sae sma,
Her cheek fair ta see as da bloom on da hedder,
Her broo laek da fann o December’s white snaa,
Her voice laek da lauch o da burn whaur da shauld is,
Da blink o her een is a heeven göd enyoch,
Bit, Oh, as I’m seen dey can grow hard an cauld as
Da bonn frost in winter on Tronidal Loch.
Twas late in September whan hom frae da whalin
Cam Lowrie o Laxo been six mont frae hame.
In Johnson’s best English he tauld o his sailin
O deeds he wis don an sights he wis seen.
He wore collars an cuffs whan he göd till a spinnin.
His cott took da rodd whan he span aff da sheet,
His breeks left da rest o wis oot o da rinnin
An his böts, weel I’m certain dey hurted his feet.
An Mally chose him, an I tink never missed me,
Fir I wis left swearin ootside i da cowld.
An fir aa da géd sense at I toucht she wis blissed wi
She coodna distinguish base metal fae gowld.
My hert nearly brook, bit I scomed fir ta shaw it,
My hert isna worn on da sleeve o my bloose.
I grinned an I bör it, fir what says da poet?
“Dey’re fish i da sea at’s wirt twau i da bush.”
Ae night I gaed doon wi some gloy ta Auld Tammy,
An Lowrie I meets at da end 0 da hoose.
He opened da grinnd an slippit in by me,
An steekit his fist on da point o me nose.
He swöre, if I cam just half a step farder
By aa at wis göd my death warrant wis signed.
An I says, “Boy, I doot he’s goin ta blaw harder
I tink at doo’d better be savin dy wind.”
He lifted his nev an he landed me flyin
A whinger at runged troo da ribs ower me hert,
An I loot oot a yell laek a grice whan he’s dyin
An furred twyce me lent troo da face o da eart
I banged ta me feet wi me blöd fair afire
An yockit me gantleman dere i da door,
An made him as black as a coo in a mire
Whan I héved him below i da gutter an glaur.
We rallied an töllied doon ower ta da runnick,
I helped him in nedder gentle nor kind,
An saeted in comfort doon dere on his stammick
I blissed him an caa’d him fir au I cood mind.
An dan I hears voices — a lantern cam glaemin —
Mally gauin i da byre ta mylk der twau kye,
Ahint her — Göd Loard wis I mad? Wis I draemin?
Ahint her cam Lowrie as I ha’e ta die!
I luikit below me au ower in a shiver
Ta see wha it wis I’d been tryin ta fell.
Da light o da lamp on a frush o red whisker
Shién shawed me twas nane bit Auld Tammas himsel,
An Tammas lay dere, moanin, groanin an plötin,
An Mally stöd, mazed at da sight at shö saw,
An I wi a face laek a grice at’s been röttin
Sat dere i da runnick, knee-bucksin her dau!
Dey’re some o you laekly can face oot collected
Da warst situation you’re clatched up alang,
An never get even your smile disconnected
Tho fun rooin sheep at ta you doesna belang.
Bit hoo wid you feel if your sweethert hed catched you
Knockin lumps aff her faider, auld, feckless an dön?
An wid you hae said it wis love at had witched you?
Or foo wid you prove you wir déin it fir fun?
Weel, Lowrie stöd girnin, I fain wid ha’e shot him,
As oot o da runnick I raise ta my feet
An Mally göd in wi Auld Tammas ta plot him,
Debateless, an fit just ta blaspheme an greet.
Da luik Mally gied me — if luiks cood ha’e dön hit —
Wid laid me a tchoddin right oot on da spot
Twill be grievin me sowl whan I reach me last meenit
Twill shorten me lifetime as laekly as not.
An dis wis da wye dan at Lowrie explained it —
“You poor witless fool you have done it tonight.
You have ruined your chance and you never can mend it,
But I thank you dear fellow, it suits me all right.
For Mally was riggin to go in the byre
An just as I struck you old Tammy came furt
So I just stepped inside and sat down by the fire,
While you gently took the old man in your skurt.”
I gaed awa sadly an made back fir hame
An fae dat day ta dis ane I’m never kent paece,
Fir hit lies on me sowl, be I waukin, or draemin,
I’m sunken me name 1 da direst disgrace,
I’m fairt ta geng furt noo lest Tammas I meet wi,
He carries a baton ta lay me in coom.
An Mally, dear Mally, at aince I wis sweet wi,
Afore I face her I wid welcome me doom.
My name i da place is da sam as Auld Nick’s ane
Troo da whole o da island my döin’s is kent.
My history dey’d hae little trouble in fixin
If folks cood mak oot only black enough pent.
Sune sad an hert-broken da place I’ll be laevin
An never be back more as lang as I live
Bit, Oh it’s fir Mally me sad hert is grievin
I widna hae cared if she’d only firgive.
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