United States or United Kingdom ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"In many of the windows there is a box of flowers, or of kitchen herbs to make the broth savory." "It wasna so i' the auld days. It was aye washin's clappin' aboon the stanes. Noo, mony o' the mithers hang the claes oot at nicht. Ilka thing is changed sin' I was a wean an' leevin' i' the auld Guildhall, the bairnies haen Bobby to lo'e, an' no' to be neglectet."
They were birk-trees, an' their boles were that breet they fair glistened i' t' sunleet. An' underneath t' birks were bluebells, yakkers an' yakkers o' bluebells, an' I thowt they were bluer an' breeter nor ony I'd seen afore. There were all maks o' birds i' t' trees spinks an' throstles an' blackbirds an' t' air aboon my head were fair wick wi' larks an' pipits singin' as canty as could be.
P. S. The most beautiful poetry I think I ever saw begins: "She's gone to dwell in Heaven, my lassie, She's gone to dwell in Heaven: Ye're ow're pure quo' a voice aboon For dwalling out of Heaven." It is not the words, but the thoughts. I hope you have read it, as I know you would admire it.
It was in the Sylvester Arms he first heard it, and straightway fell into one of those foaming frenzies characteristic of him. "The dochter o' Moore o' Kenmuir, d'ye say? sic a dochter o' sic a man! The dochter o' th' one man in the warld that's harmed me aboon the rest! I'd no ha' believed it gin ye'd no tell't me. Oh, David, David!
'Hoo's a lady, whatever else hoo is, said an old woman; 'an' if hoo's aboon porritch, hoo's none aboon kissin' a poor mon's child. That evening, as Mr. Penrose walked with his wife along the path of the old manse garden, he turned to her, saying: 'This has been a trying Sunday, little woman. 'Yes; but I've got over it, thanks to that little lame girl.
Then the boy turned to old Malachi, and, with a farewell look of recognition and a last effort of speech, said: 'Malachi, ax Him as is aboon to leet His great candle, and show me th' road along th' seam. It's some fearsome and dark. Leet Thy candle, Lord Thy great candle and mak' it as leet as day for th' lad.
When they had come to the Dean Castle, which stands in a pleasant green park about a mile aboon the town-head of Kilmarnock, on entering the gate, my grandfather hastily alighted, and giving his horse a sharp prick of his spur as he lap off, the beast ran capering out of his hand, round the court of the castle.
"It is the highest earthly motive I can gie him," argued the anxious old man, "and he has aye had grace enough to keep out o' my sight when he wasna himsel'; he'll ne'er let wee John and Flora and Davie see him when the whiskey is aboon the will and the wit that's no to be believed." And for a time it seemed as if John's tactics would prevail. There were many evenings when they were very happy.
The walk which he commemorates in "Minchmoor" was taken, if I am not mistaken, in company with Principal Shairp, Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford, and author of one of the most beautiful of Tweedside songs, a modern "Bush aboon Traquair:" "And what saw ye there, At the bush aboon Traquair; Or what did ye hear that was worth your heed?
Houp for mysel', for my father, for a'body, is what's savin' me, an' garrin' me work. An' gin ye tell me that I'm no workin' wi' God, that God's no the best an' the greatest worker aboon a', ye tak the verra hert oot o' my breist, and I dinna believe in God nae mair, an' my han's drap doon by my sides, an' my legs winna gang.
Word Of The Day