The Bandsman’s Ballad

1.

Come wind the horn of the harvest—hark !1

The harp strings thrill, and the pipes at wark ;2

And the festal light gleams through the door,3

And the snooded dames bound to the floor ;4

And the dancer tries his deftest craft,5

And the roof wags its remotest raft ;6

No thought of reap-hook and ripe grain,7

They shake the sweat from their locks like rain.8

Bound to the strings ! it is gladsome wark,9

The clasp o’ the hand, and the kiss i’ the dark ;10

When the willing lips must in secret meet—11

I hae tried it, and never was ought so sweet ;12

The hoary men gaze, and they smile demure13

At their blythe bairns bounding on the floor ;14

And there is shout, and scream, and smack15

Of lips—and full cups come empty back.16

O’er my simmer of life’s come a nipping frost—17

And worried wi’ eld, and this kirk-yard hoast ;18

I maun gaunt and glower when the piper’s croon,19

An’ beat time wi’ the end o’ my crutch to the tune,20

And my frozen blood begins to creep21

When the grass-green gowns come by with a sweep ;22

Oh, prayer, and fast, and penance, and pain,23

Canna bring youth’s golden days again.24

My auld limbs streeked ’neath the round cauld moon,25

I maun pore on the stars, and sift how soon,26

The Ae shall come down wi’ a foam and a dash—27

And the loosened winds shall our ripe rigs thrash ;28

How mony ripe kimmers, “tween beltane and yule,29

Shall faut and grace the repentance-stool—30

All this I can learn as I streek my shanks31

On the dewy grass, by the bonnie burn banks.32