Poem for April 30, 2028

AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees

Her robe assume its vernal hues:

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,

All freshly steep’d in morning dews.

Chorus.—And maun I still on Menie doat,

And bear the scorn that’s in her e’e?

For it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s like a hawk,

An’ it winna let a body be.

In vain to me the cowslips blaw,

In vain to me the vi’lets spring;

In vain to me in glen or shaw,

The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

And maun I still, &c.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,

Wi’ joy the tentie seedsman stalks;

But life to me’s a weary dream,

A dream of ane that never wauks.

And maun I still, &c.

The wanton coot the water skims,

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,

The stately swan majestic swims,

And ev’ry thing is blest but I.

And maun I still, &c.

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,

And o’er the moorlands whistles shill:

Wi’ wild, unequal, wand’ring step,

I meet him on the dewy hill.

And maun I still, &c.

And when the lark, ’tween light and dark,

Blythe waukens by the daisy’s side,

And mounts and sings on flittering wings,

A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.

And maun I still, &c.

Come winter, with thine angry howl,

And raging, bend the naked tree;

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,

When nature all is sad like me!

And maun I still, &c.