Beggar Willy’s Lament Poem by Robert Anderson

The Norlan blast bla's o'er the hill,
And day's last chearin' glimpse is gane;
Alake! what waes my bosom fill,
For hame or shelter I hae nane!
Before me lies the trackless muir,
Wi' monie a dang'rous wreath o' sna';
God only kens what I endure,
Now night her curtain draws o'er a'.

The wale o' pleasures ance were mine,
And blithe was spent life's joyous morn;
But age and puirtith now combine,
To point me out ilk mortals scorn:
The walthy drive me frae the gate;
The puir but little can bestow;
But I maun bear the ills o' fate,
Till death shall end baith want and woe.

I had a wife, but she's nae mair;
I had a son, his father's pride;
I had a cot, where ne'er ance care
Durst seat him by our ingle side:
Methinks I see my Johnny's smile;
My age's hale delight was he!
But wae betide the press--gang, vile,
Wha forc'd the prop o' life frae me!

We cheerfu' toil'd, wi' nought to fear,
An' neebors, a', to baith were kind;
My dim ee draps a painfu' tear,
When tha'e blest days I ca' to mind!
Yes! monie weel--lo'ed friens I fan,
Wha pass me now unheeded by;
E'en wee things mock the helpless man,
An' weary o' the warl am I!

Full fourscore Winters I hae seen,
An' this may be auld Willy's last:
But he wha hates a thought that's mean,
Shou'd ne'er repine at what is past.
The angry storm comes howling forth;
I'll seat me 'neath this leafless tree;
An' He wha rules the heav'n an' earth,
May comfort hae in store for me!