Cuddle Doon
The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht,
Wi’ muckle faucht an’ din;
Oh, try an’ sleep, ye waukrife rogues,
Your father’s comin’ in.
They never heed a word I speak;
I try to gi’e a froon,
But aye I hap them up, an’ cry,
“O, bairnies, cuddle doon.”
Wee Jamie wi’ the curly heid—
He aye sleeps neist the wa’,
Bangs up an’ cries, “I want a piece”;
The rascal starts them a’.
I rin an’ fetch them pieces, drinks,
They stop awee the soun’;
Then draw the blankets up and cry,
“Noo, weanies, cuddle doon.”
But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab
Cries oot frae ’neath the claes,
“Mither, mak’ Tam gie ower at ance—
He’s kittlin’ wi’ his taes.”
The mischief’s in that Tam for tricks,
He’d bother half the toon:
But aye I hap them up an’ cry,
“O, bairnies, cuddle doon.”
At length they hear their father’s fit,
An’, as he steeks the door,
They turn their faces to the wa’,
While Tam pretends to snore.
“Hae a’ the weans been gude?” he asks,
As he pits aff his shoon;
“The bairnies, John, are in their beds,
An’ lang since cuddled doon.”
An’ just afore we bed oorsel’s,
We look at oor wee lambs;
Tam has his airm roun’ wee Rab’s neck,
An’ Rab his airm roun’ Tam’s.
I lift wee Jamie up the bed,
An’, as I straik each croon,
I whisper, till my heart fills up,
“O, bairnies, cuddle doon.”
The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht,
Wi’ mirth that’s dear to me;
But sune the big warl’s cark an’ care
Will quaten doon their glee.
Yet come what will to ilka ane,
May He who sits aboon
Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld,
“O, bairnies, cuddle doon.”
Alexander Anderson.