For this third installment of the Blogger’s Silent Poetry Reading, I’m digging WAY back into my childhood. With a linguist-at-heart, Mother, who reads voraciously and acted in community theater, I had a childhood full of classic literary references and accents randomly interjected into conversation.
But my mom had a poem memorized that she used to recite to us when going to bed, and my first thought for what to post today was this. The poem is written in a Scottish dialect, so just sound out the words (it helps if you read it aloud, even though that makes it not technically a “silent” poetry reading), roll the ‘R’s, and enjoy. If the Scottish accent is a bit thick and it makes no sense, this page offers translation of some of the weirder words.
Cuddle Doon by Alexander Anderson.
The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht,
Wi’ muckle fash an’ din.
“Oh, try and sleep, ye waukrife rogues;
Your faither’s comin’ in.”
They never heed a word I speak.
I try to gie a froon;
But aye I hap them up, an’ cry,
“Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon!”
Wee Jamie wi’ the curly heid –
He aye sleeps next the wa’ –
Bangs up an’ cries, “I want a piece” –
The rascal starts them a’.
I rin an fetch them pieces, drinks –
They stop awee the soun’ –
Then draw the blankets up, an’ cry,
“Noo, weanies, cuddle doon!”
But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab
Cries oot, frae ‘neath the claes,
“Mither, mak’ Tam gie ower at ance:
He’s kittlin’ wi’ his taes.”
The mischief’s in that Tam for tricks;
He’d bother half the toon.
But aye I hap them up an’ cry,
“Oh, bairnies, cuudle doon!”
At length they hear their father’s fit;
An’, as he steeks the door,
They turn their faces to the wa’,
While Tam pretends to snore.
“Hae a’ the weans been gude?” he asks,
As he pits aff his shoon.
“The bairnies, John, are in their beds,
An’ lang since cuddled doon.”
An’ just afore we bed oorsels,
We look at oor wee lambs.
Tam has his airm roun’ wee Rab’s neck,
An’ Rab his airm roun’ Tam’s.
I lift wee Jamie up the bed,
An, as I straik each croon,
I whisper, till my heart fills up,
“Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon!”
The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht
Wi’ mirth that’s dear to me;
But soon the big warl’s cark an’ care
Will quaten doon their glee.
Yet, come what will to ilka ane,
May He who rules aboon
Aye whisper, through their pows be bald,
“Oh bairnies, cuddle doon!”
M
