Auld Uncle Watty

O! weel I ha'e mind o' my auld uncle Watty,

When but a bit callan I stood by his knee,

Or clamb the big chair, where at e'enin' he sat aye;

He made us fu' blythe wi' his fun and his glee:

For O! he was knackie, and couthie, and crackle,

Baith humour and lair in his noddle had he—

The youths o' the clachan he'd keep a' a-laughin",

Wi' his queer obserrations and stories sae slee.

The last Hogmanay that we met in his cottie,

To talk owre the past, and the nappy to pree,

Some auld-farrant sangs, that were touchin' and witty,

He sung, till the bairnies were dancin' wi' glee;

And syne in the dance, like a youngster o' twenty,

He lap and he flang wi' auld Nannie Macfee—

In a' the blythe meeting nae ane was sae canty,

Sae jokin', sae gabby, sae furthy, and free.

And! had ye seen him that e'enin' when Rory

W'as kippled to Maggie o' Riccarton Mill,

Wi' jokes rare and witty he kept up the glory,

Till morning's faint glmimer was seen on the hill.

O! he was a body, when warm'd wi' the toddy,

Whase wit to ilk bosom enchantment could gi'e,

For funnin' and daffin', and punnin' and laughin',

Throughout the hale parish nae equal had he.

But worn out at last wi' life's cares and its labours,

He bade an adieu to his frien's a' sae dear,

And sunk in death's sleep, sair bewail'd by his neebors,

Wha yet speak his praise, and his mem'ry revere.

Whar slumbers the dust o' my auld anntie Matty,

We dug him a grave wi' the tear in our e'e,

And there laid the banes o' my auld uncle Watty,

To moulder in peace by the big aiken-tree.