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By David Herbison

Until our Spring’s return

Brought the flow’ret on the hill,
I was never heard to mourn,
Nor did grief my bosom fill.

There was na to be found
On the bonnie banks of Main
One whose slumber was so sound,
For I knew not care nor pain.

But sickness came our road
When we little dreamed it near,
And of grief it brought a load
I was all unfit to bear.

It took awa’ my man –
And a kinder could na be;
He was never heard to bann
At his little bairns or me.

To part us he was loath,
And his tears in anguish flow’d
When he saw the hand of Death
Pointing out his destin’d road.

His eye was fix’d above –
From each worldly thought away –
While he sought the promised love
As the orphans’ shield and stay.

In Him alone we trust
Who can still the tempest’s roar,
That we’ll met Him wi’ the just
When this weary life is o’er.

He that saved us frae the storm,
And the bitter blast that blew
When the half of a’ Galgorm
Bade their little cots adieu.

That God, we trust, will hear
The widow’s fervent prayer –
For whom there’s naething here
But sorrow, want, and care!

For now my man is dead,
And there’s nane to pity me;
Every joy wi’ him has fled
That this weary world could gie.

Where now my children weep
Famine counts her naked bones;
We have nought whereon to sleep
Save the cold, unfeeling stones.

The workhouse I maun seek –
In its hated wa’s to dee –
Where the maniac’s woeful shriek
Ne’er yet has ceased to be.

Oh! that my heart would break
Ere I reach its lonely shade –
Where the dying and the weak
Have their bed in misery made.

My bairns maun a’ go there,
For they canna work ava;
And it grieves my bosom sair
When their tears wi’ hunger fa’!

Ere trade began to fail
Want they never had to fear;
Pleasure told her pleasing tale
Ever joyful to the ear.

How gladly Willie sang
Sittin’ by me at the wheel;
A’ the house wi’ pleasure rang
While he brought us milk and meal.

But now the trade is done,
And we needna spin ava;
For the country’s overrun
Wi’ machines that ruin a’.

There’s few can earn their meat,
And each manly heart is sair,
When his country’s seen to greet
In the bosom o’ despair.

To pay the laird his rent
Our claes were a’ to pawn –
Nane to heed my sad lament –
No a frien’ to take my han’!

I’m now without a hame
For my little bairns and me;
And to beg I think a shame,
Where a beggar needna be.

But Erin’s held in scorn,
Peace she canna find ava –
Neglected and forlorn
Are her children ane and a’.

To the workhouse I maun go,
In its hated wa’s to dee,
Where the bitter sound of woe
Never yet has ceased to be.

I wish I were at rest,
Where my guid auld man is laid –
In the mansion of the blest
There is nane of want afraid.

Oh! for the peaceful hame
That my Willy now enjoys!
He to meet me will be fain,
Where nae trouble e’er annoys.

Oh! how I wish to be
In yon star-enamelled plain,
Frae the toils that poor folk dree
In this weary world of pain!