My Ancestors

A barefoot boy I went to school

         To save a cobbler's fee,

For though the porridge pot was full

         A frugal folk were we;

We baked our bannocks, spun our wool,

         And counted each bawbee.

We reft our living from the soil,

         And I was shieling bred;

My father's hands were warped with toil,

         And crooked with grace he said.

My mother made the kettle boil

         As spinning wheel she fed.

My granny smoked a pipe of clay,

         And yammered of her youth;

The hairs upon her chin were grey,

         She had a single tooth;

Her mutch was grimed, I grieve to say,

         For I would speak the truth.

You of your ancestry may boast,—

         Well, here I brag of mine;

For if there is a heaven host

         I hope they'll be in line:

My dad with collie at his heel

         In plaid of tartan stripe;

My mammie with her spinning wheel,

         My granny with her pipe.