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.