The Poor Man.
[James Hogg.]
Loose the yett, an let me in,
Lady wi' the glistening e'e,
Dinna let your menial train
Drive an auld man out to dee.
Cauldrife is the winter even,
See, the rime hangs at my chin;
Lady, for the sake of Heaven,
Loose the yett, an' let me in!
Ye shall gain a virgin hue,
Lady, for your courtesye,
Ever beaming, ever new,
Aye to bloom an' ne'er to dee.
Lady, there's a lovely plain
Lies beyond yon setting sun,
There we soon may meet again—
Short the race we ha'e to run.
'Tis a land of love an' light;
Rank or title is not there,
High an' low maun there unite,
Poor man, prince, an' lady fair;
There, what thou on earth hast given,
Doubly shall be paid again!
Lady, for the sake of Heaven,
Loose the yett, an' let me in!
Blessings rest upon thy head,
Lady of this lordly ha'!
That bright tear that thou did'st shed
Fell nae down amang the snaw!
It is gane to heaven aboon,
To the fount of charitye;
When thy days on earth are done,
That blest drop shall plead for thee.