The wee herd laddie has biggit a
hoose -
He's biggit it a' his lane;
And there he can lie and watch his
kye,
And fear na win' nor rain.
He has pickit the place wi' a
skeely thocht -
On a knowe at the end o' the bicht;
And the door looks east, where the
win' blaws least,
And his chairge are a' in sicht.
Its twa-foot wa's are o' tide-mark
stanes
That the waves hae masoned roun';
And ilka bit chink, where the day
micht blink,
Wi' fog he has oakumed soun'.
It's roofed and theekit - a
tradesman's job!
The rafters are runts o' whin,
Wi' bracken and heather weel
soddit thegither,
And wechtin' stanes abune.
There's an ingle neuk at the
benmaist en',
And the lum was a pail in its day;
And out at the back there's a wee
peat stack,
As a bien bit hoose sud hae.
He'll fen' for himsel', a laddie
like yon;
And lang may he leeve to tell -
When he's feathered his nest, and
come hame for a rest -
O' the hoose he biggit himsel'!
