“THE FARMERS’ WIVES O’ ANNANDALE.”
Being shown, at Lockerbie, a printed programme of after-dinner proceedings at the celebration there of Mr. R. Jardine’s marriage, the writer noticed in the list the sentence that heads this page, and enquired if it were a toast or a song. When told it was the former, he said it deserved to be a song; and, acting on his own hint, crooned out the following verses on his homeward journey by rail.
The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale!
Gude haud them bein an’ braw;
Ilk rules within her foothy hame,
Like leddy in her ha’.
Ilk yearns to guide her ain gudeman
Wi’ love that downa fail;—
They irr the wale o’ woman-kind—
The wives o’ Annandale!
The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale!
I’ve kent their gates fu’ lang;
They’re worthy weel the wine cup’s grace—
Weel worthy o’ a sang.
But ne’er to read their worth aricht,
May toast or sang avail;
They far transcend a’ rhymin’ skill—
The wives o’ Annandale!
The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale
Shew fine at kirk an’ fair;
But see them at their ain firesides—
They shine the brichtest there.
Wi’ gracious smiles an’ winsome words
The stranger guest they hail;—
They’re angels in a hamely sphere—
The wives o’ Annandale!
The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale!
They strive frae morn till nicht,
Without, within, through but an’ ben,
To hand a’ rowin’ richt;
To keep contentit their gudemen,
Their bairnies feal an’ hale,
Till baith rise up an’ ca’ them blest—
The wives o’ Annandale.
The chiel’ that hes in Annandale
A weel-waled farm an’ wife,
Has drawn twae glorious prizes frae
The lucky-bag o’ life.
An’ may they prosper, stock an’ store,
In ever hichtinin’ scale,
Whae treasure in their hames an’ hearts
The wives o’ Annandale.