Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/523

Rh Your banes against my ingle-back
 * Wi’ meikle pleasure.

Deil mend ye i’ his workshop black,
 * E’en at his leisure!

I ’ll brak ye’re neck, ye foul auld sinner, I ’ll spill ye’re bluid, ye vile beginner O’ a’ the ills an’ aches that winna
 * Quat saul an’ body!

Gie me hale breeks an’ weel-spread dinner—
 * Deil tak’ ye’re toddy!

Nae mair wi’ witches’ broo gane gyte, Gie me ance mair the auld delight O’ sittin’ wi’ my bairns in sight,
 * The gude wife near,

The weel-spent day, the peacefu’ night,
 * The mornin’ cheer!

Cock a’ ye’re heids, my bairns fu’ gleg, My winsome Kobin, Jean, an’ Meg, For food and claes ye shall na beg
 * A doited daddie,

Dance, auld wife, on your girl-day leg,
 * Ye ’ve foun’ your laddie!

is wailing from the Gulf of storm-vexed Mexico, To where through Pampas’ solitudes the mighty rivers flow; The dark Sierras hear the sound, and from each mountain rift, Where Andes and Cordilleras their awful summits lift, Where Cotopaxi’s fiery eye glares redly upon heaven, And Chimborazo’s shattered peak the upper sky has riven; From mount to mount, from wave to wave, a wild and long lament, A sob that shakes like her earthquakes the startled continent!

A light dies out, a life is sped—the hero’s at whose word The nations started as from sleep, and girded on the sword; The victor of a hundred fields where blood was poured like rain, And Freedom’s loosened avalanche hurled down the hosts of Spain, The eagle soul on Junin’s slope who showed his shouting men A grander sight than Balboa saw from wave-washed Darien,