The Weary Weird Poem by Alexander Anderson

The Nith has a weird, weird soun' the nicht,
As it swurls through the big black pool,
An' the win' comin' doon through the Piper's Cleuch
Has a waefu' soun' o' dool.


An' thrice hae I heard, as I stood by the door,
A soun' like a funeral bell,
An' my bluid ran prinklin' frae heid to fit
As I heard its eerie knell.


I thocht the Nith took a deeper sough
At that waefu', wailin' soun',
While the reid, reid streamers within the north
They glimmer'd up an' doon.


They glimmer'd up till, abune my heid,
They faded an' sunk away,
But aye the soun' o' that eerie knell
Cam' doon frae the auld kirk brae.


The auld kirk wa's an' the moss-grown thrughs
Are up in the kirkyaird there,
But nae bell has rung on the Sabbath day
For fifty years an' mair.


Noo, wha can be pu'in' that unseen rape
In the mirk, mirk hoor o' the nicht?
An' wha can be ringin' that unseen bell
That has gien me sic a fricht?


Alake the day! has the time come roun'
For that unseen bell to swing?
O! weel I min' hoo my bluid ran cauld
When first I heard it ring.


I ken wha it is that pu's the rape
That never yet has been seen,
An' I ken wha is ringin' the bell, though nane
Hings the auld bare wa's atween.


But sit ye doon in the big airm-chair,
An' lean your back to the wa',
An' I'll tell ye the tale o' the auld kirk bell,
An' the death o' Simon Gaw.


When the roof o' the kirk up there fell in,
An' nae mair, on the Sabbath day,
The douce, plain herds and the kintra folk
Cam' together to sing an' pray.


Then a sayin' gaed through the kintra-side,
That whaever took stick or stane
Frae the kirk wad never dae weel through life,
An' his airm wad shrink to the bane.


But a deeper curse wad come doon on the heid
O' him wha took the bell—
It wad swing an' ring in his ears until
It brocht his funeral knell.


For the kirk, they said, is God's ain house,
Though built wi' stane an' lime,
An' never a han' may touch roof or wa'
Save the unseen han' o' Time.


But little they care for the holy things
Wha serve in their heart the deil,
An' worship nocht but the gowd they mak',
An' their ain narrow, warldly weal.


Sae, in spite o' the curse that was spoken oot,
Ere a twalmonth had time to speed,
They began to pu' down the auld kirk wa's
To serve their selfish greed.


First the Laird o' Glenheid took away some stanes,
To pit his byre-en' richt;
But a week scarce had gane when nae coo had he
To rowte in the byre at nicht.


Then the farmer o' Meikle Knowe took a door
On his ain big barn to swing,
But ever after, until he dee'd,
He gaed wi' his airm in a sling.


An' never man or woman saw
That airm o' his laid bare;
But weel they ken'd that the bane was black,
An' nae flesh or muscle there.


Young Tamson, the Laird o' Whinny Glen,
Was the next to tak' away
Some wud for an oot hoose to beild his stirks,
But he saw nae anither day.


For the Nith rase up as he cross'd the ford,
An' man an' horse gaed doon,
An' were faun' next day by the Nailer's Craig
Where the swurl gangs roun' an' roun'.


Sae the curse that was spoken aboot the kirk
By auld grey-heided men
Fell on a' wha had ta'en away stick or stane,
An' they cam to a waefu' en'.


But what was the horror o' young an' auld,
When the neebours began to tell
That the nicht afore ane had speel'd the wa',
An' had stolen away the bell!


O meikle, meikle wrath, I wat,
Was in the hearts o' a';
'An' wha can hae dune the deed?' they ask'd,
While they thocht on Simon Gaw.


But they never cam' oot wi' his name, I trow,
Though it lay in their heart an' heid;
'It will sune be seen, for the curse,' they said,
'Canna pass by siccan a deed.'


An' aye after this, at a certain time,
Auld Simon Gaw was seen
To gang aboot, as if pu'in' a rape,
While a mad look cam' frae his een.


His airms gaed up an' his airms gaed doon,
While his mouth took many a shape;
'The curse has fa'en on him at last,' they cried,
'An' his weird's to pu' the rape.'


O weary, weary's the weird atweel,
That ilka ane has to dree,
Wha lays his han's on God's holy things,
An' thinks that He canna see.


Sae the curse fell on Simon lang an' sair,
For stealin' the auld kirk bell;
But he never loot on to man o' his sin,
Though ae nicht he had to tell.


The Nith had an eerie sough that nicht,
Like that we hear the noo;
An' the streamers away in the strange blue north
Grew bricht an' white to view.


They glimmer'd upward in flauchts o' licht,
Then spread their han's o'erheid;
While ae clud wan'er'd away frae the rest,
Stood still in a sea o' reid.


A licht was seen in the auld kirkyaird—
It aye gaed roun' an' roun',
Then gleam'd like a star frae abune the place
Where the bell had been ta'en doon.


An' aye a soun' gaed through the air,
But it wasna the soun' o' a bell,
Nor the sough o' the Nith, but what it could be
Nae mortal man could tell.


It cam' frae the auld kirk up on the knowe,
An' it seem'd to dee away
Ow'r the tap o' the hoose where Simon Gaw
On his waefu' deathbed lay.


Few, few were the neebours aboot the door
That cam' to speir for his weal,
For little trock could they hae wi' ane
Wha had sellt himsel' to the deil.


But at nicht, when the dark, dark hours set in,
Anither neebour an' me
Gaed doon to sit up through the eerie nicht—
The last that Simon wad see.


We sat, an' we watch'd the shadows lie
On his thin an' ghastly face,
Till within an hoor o' the stroke o' twal,
An' then a change took place.


A strange, wild look came into his een,
An' a reid, unholy licht;
While afore we could lay oor han's on him,
He sat on his bed upricht.


An' his airms gaed up an' his airms gaed doon,
As if pu'in' at some string,
While a' at aince, at the heid o' the bed,
A bell began to ring.


Then he lookit roun' as he heard the soun',
An' cried wi' a' his micht—
'I stole, an' I sellt that bell for gowd,
That will ring me away this nicht.'


Then his airms gaed up an' his airms gaed doon,
As if ringin' that unseen bell,
An' reider the licht grew within his een
As he heard that awfu' knell.


I turn'd my back to that dreid, dreid sicht,
But my heart was sae fu' o' fear
That I fell by the bed at my neebour's feet,
An' hadna power to steer.


An' aye the bell keepit ringin' on,
Till at the stroke o' twal'
It ceased; an' I rase, as beneath a weicht,
Wi' my body dooble faul'.


But whaten a sicht had I to see—
May I never see like o't mair!
Auld Simon Gaw lay deid on his bed,
Wi' baith his airms in the air.


An' the same reid licht was within his een—
It lickit his lips aroun';
It burn'd oor han's as we gruppit his airms
An' tried to lay them doon.


But afore his corpse was in last white claes,
We twa were forced to bide,
An' keep doon the airms till the shroud was on,
For they aye rase up frae his side.


O mony an awfu' doom, atweel,
Comes doon on the heids o' men,
But the weird that Simon Gaw had to dree
Was the warst in a' fowk's ken.


An' aye when the nicht o' his death comes roun',
Strange soun's gang through the air,
An' a bell tolls on frae the auld kirk wa's,
For Simon Gaw is there.


He pu's an' pu's at an unseen rape—
At an unseen bell that rings;
For a weary weird fa's on ilka ane
Wha steals God's holy things.


Sae let us keep min' o' auld Simon Gaw,
An' act that there may be
Nae bell ringin' on at oor ain bed heid
When we lay us doon to dee.