ORIGINAL POETRY.

Otago Witness, Issue 298, 15 August 1857, Page 6

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE GRUBBIN' O'T. • Tune— "Duncan Grey."' Alas! the day I sair bewail, ; 'J Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't, That ere frae Scotland I set sail!, , , Ha, ha, the gmbbin' o't. Its grubbin' late and grubbin' sune, Wat below and wat abune, Grubbin' till I'm near stane blin', ' Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. Its naething o' a place ava, > % Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't, J Its either rain or driftin* snaw, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. Tuggin' at the roots o' Toot Is deev'lish sair wark, there's nae doot, I wish New Zealand to auld cloot, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. Livin' 'mang a savage crew, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't, Wi' faces scored baith black and blue, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. The Shirramuir was naething tilt, Tho' thoosands there were wound and kilt, And bluid in torrents there was spilt, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. My claes is dune, my cash is gane, , • >f Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't, There's naething left but skin and bane, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. I wander here, I wander there, And wring my hands in sad despair, And whiles in grief I tear my hair, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. When to New Zealand first I came, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. I wish ye'd only seen my wame, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. But look tilt noo, alase ! alase ! The skin might do"to dry my face, 0 mine's is a most dolefu' case, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. 1 raither than a siller croon, i Ha, ha, the grubbin'o't, * That I were back to Edinbro' Town, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. I'd ha'e a gill, ye're sure enough, Wi' worthy Mr. Cattenach, Then farewell grubbin'-hoe and plough, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. Hearken noo ye growlin' crew, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't, I've changed my tune, and sac should you, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't; For I've begun the cooper trade, And workin' next to Gallic's shed, Where horses they are shod or bled, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. Baith cogs and kirns I mak' wi' glee, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't, I tap the barrels and taste the bree, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. ' And lately I ha'e bocht a cow ; Its altered days wi' me I trow; I'm getting fat, and whiles I'm fu', Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. An honest man may tak' a dram, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't, The Maine Law League is a' a sham, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. There's some folks say they winna pree, That tak's their dram as weel as me, Aweel, aweel, sac let it be, Ha, ha, the grubbin' o't. John Barr, South Craigielee. THE DRUNKARD'S RAGGIT WEAK [One of our friends, when in Glasgow the other day, was made to tarry in the street by the plaintive notes of a child singing the following song, several copies of which the boy was selling for a halfpenny. He purchased one, and our readers have the benefit of the investment.] — Liverpool Albion. A wee bit raggit laddie gangs wan'rin' thro' the street, Wadin' 'mang the snaw wi' his wee hackit feet. Shiv'rin' i' the cauld blast, greetin' wi' the pain, Wha's the puir wee callan' ? he's a drunkard's raggit wean. He stands at ilka door, and he keeks wi' wfstfu' e'e, To see the crowd around the fire, a' laughin' loud wi' glee ; But he daurna venture ben', tho' his heart be e'er sac fain, For he mauna play wi' ither bairns, the drunkard's raggit wean. Oh ! see the wee bit bairnie, his heart is unco fu f, The sleet is blawin' canld, and he's dreepit thro' and thro', He's speerin' for his r mither, and he won'ers whar she's gane; But, oh ! his niither she forgets her puir wee raggit wean. He kens nae faither's luve, an' he kens nae mither's care, To soothe his wee bit sorrows, or karne his tautit hair, To kiss him when he waukens, or smooth his bed at c'en, An' oh! he fears his faither's face, the drunkard's raggit wean. Oh ! pity the wee laddie, sac guileless and sac young, The oath that leaves his faither's lip 'ill settle on his tongue, And sinfu' words his mither speaks his infant Ifpa 'ill stain, < v'^ For ohl there's nane to guide( the bairn,''the drunkard's raggit wean. r Then surely we micht try an' turn that sinfu' . mither's heart, ' -. An' try to get his faither to act a faither's part, An' mak 1 them lea' the drunkard's cup, an' never taste again, > An' cherish wi'.a parent's care their puir wee raggit wean. - .

Happiness depending on Small Things: —The sunshine of life is made up of very small beams, that are bright all the time.