1793 Poem, Samuel Thomson, ‘Elegy. Lizie’s Lament for her Dog Lion’
Author: Samuel Thomson
Date: 1793
Source: Poem: ‘Elegy. Lizie’s Lament for her Dog Lion’, from Poems, on Different Subjects, partly in the Scottish Dialect by Samuel Thomson (Belfast: printed for the author, 1793).
Comments: Samuel Thomson (1766–1816) from Lyles Hill near Templepatrick in South Antrim was the editor of the ‘Poets’ Corner’ in the Belfast United Irishman newspaper Northern Star until the paper was closed down in 1797. He exchanged poems with, and visited, Robert Burns, and published three books containing Ulster-Scots poetry — in 1793, 1799 and 1806. An account of his life and poetry can be found in the Introduction to The Country Rhymes of Samuel Thomson, by Philip Robinson and Ernest Scott (Belfast, 1992).
Doc. ref. no.: USLS/TB/Poetry/1700-1799/015
ELEGY.
LIZIE’S LAMENT for her DOG
LION.
Dear nibor Cummers, welcome here!
In sorrow ten times doubly dear!
Let each a sympathizing tear
Let fa’ bedeen,
For sic a breach this threty year,
We hae na seen.
It’s no the loss o’ cawf or cow,
Compells me thus to thraw my mou,
Nor loss o’ nearest friends I trow,
Cou’d thus confound me;
Mirk clouds o’ woe my dog for you,
Thick, thick, surround me!
Ye’re now a cauld an’ stiffen’d corse,
That was the herd o’ ky an’ horse:
An eke the safeguard o’ my purse,
Which now I fear!
Some knave wi’ unrelenting force
Will frae me tear!
I’ll ne’er forget while breath I draw,
That solemn night! ye mind it a’
That my auld father slipt awa
I hope to bliss;
The loss indeed was unco sma,
Compar’d to this! —
As ’mang my stacks I stood incog,
I saw the wicked, graceless rogue
Wi’ hasty steps come o’er the bog,
Curse on the black!
[1] A sudden death he gi’ed my dog,
Just in a crack!
Ah Lion! wale o’ glossy tykes!
Nae mair ye’ll spang the shoughs an’ dykes;
Nae mair ye’ll hap out o’er the sykes,
Wi tail erect:
Nor ever mair the beggar bykes
Gaur stan aback.
Thou, like mysel’, a hatred bore,
To a’ that lousy cantin’ core:
Thou drove the miscreant’s frae my door,
Just to my wish;
Whilk for the same till rinnin’ o’er
I’d fill’d thy dish.
But now ilk ane withouten fear
May to my door-step venture near,
An’ o’er the floor an’ grate mine ear,
Wi gallin mane,
Since him wha kept my ha’ sae clear,
Is dead and gane!
Nae mair on you shall R------n cry on,
To urge the lazy stirks, an ky on:
Nor pauky weans again be tryin’
Wi’ bread to win ye:
My G------d! my dog! my all! my Lion!
My heart was in ye!
While some wish’d this, and some wish’d that
Some sigh’d, some pray’d, while ithers grat;
Auld granny i’ the peet-neuk sat
Wi’ venom white —
Wi’ meikle dole, she hostin spat
Her wrath and spite.
Footnote
[1] He was shot.
