Ruth Poem by Robert Anderson

The crackets were chirping on the hearth;
Our wife reel'd gairn, and sat i'th' nuik;
I tuik a whiff o' my cutty black peype;
Lal Dick by fire--leet plied his buik;
The youngermer bairns at heeds and cross,
Sat laikin merrily in a row;
The wind clash'd tui the entry duir,
And down the chimney fell the snow.

`O! says our weyfe, then fetch'd a seegh,
`Guidman, we sud reet thankfu' be!
`How monie a scwore this angry neet,
`Wad like to sit wi' tee and me;
`Sae wad our dowter Ruth, I trow,
`A silly peer luckless bairn she's been;
`For her, nae day gangs owre my head,
`But painfu' tears gush frae my een.

`She aye was honest and weel to see,
`I sayt--she hed nae faut but yen--
`She off wid a taistrel sowdger lad,
`And niver yence sent the scribe of a pen:
`O man! we sud forget and forgive;
`The brute beast for its awn 'll feel;
`Were mine awt' warl, ay ten times mair,
`I'd gi'e't to see her alive and weel.

`Whea kens, peer thing! what she's endur'd,
`Sin that sad hour she left her heame;
`Thou turn'd her out; it hurt me sair,
`And aw our neibors cried out shem.'
Here stopped our weyfe, and shuik her head,
While tears ran tricklin down her cheek;
I fan the truth o' what she said,
But deil a word cud owther speak.

Just then the latch was lifted up;
`Ay, that's a boggle,!' cried out lal Ann;
In bounc'd my bairn, and, at my feet,
Cried, `O, forgi'e me!--here's my guidman!'
Our dame she shriek'd, and dropp'd her wark;
I bless'd them beath--the bairns were fain;
We talk'd the stormy neet away,
And, God be prais'd, we've met again!