Bobbie

Gin you're gangin' doon the city
Come next Sabbath afternoon,
An' you'll catch a glimpse o' Tartan
An' you'll hear a skirlin' tune;
An' you'll see a crowd o' laddies
Lookin' verra dour an' staid,
Wi' just here an' there a Cairngorn,
An' a wee tiny speck o' plaid;
Dinna think from their expression
They are on some mission sad
For their thoughts are back wi' Bobbie,
Wi' the braw, brave ploughman lad.

Once again they'll see him treadin'
Dreary-eyed behind the plough,
With his thoughts amonsgt the angels
And a brave light on his brow.
Once again they'll see him sparking
By the burnside and the glen,
Wi' another sort of angel
An' a sonsy lass ye ken.
Aye, a thousand sober Scotsmen
On the Sabbath afternoon,
Will be back again with Bobbie
With a graceless, godlike gloom.

But they'll not tell of his tailin's;
He was human, he was young,
But they'll join him in his dreaming,
And the rare brave songs he sung
Singing songs of bonny Scotland,
That will never fade with time:
Noble thoughts of truth and beauty
That is genius put in rhyme
And they'll love him for his dreaming
Aye, and for his failin's, too,
When their thoughts go back to Bobbie,
Sweetest singer Scotland knew

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"Bobbie" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 1 Apr. 2020. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/6232/bobbie>.

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