1804 Poem, James Orr, 'To a Sparrow'
Author: James Orr
Date: 1804
Source: Poem: ‘To a Sparrow. On seeing some boys rob her Nest’, from Poems, on Various Subjects, by James Orr (Belfast: Printed by Smyth & Lyons, 1804)
Comments: James Orr (1770-1816), a weaver from Ballycarry in East Antrim, is sometimes regarded as the best Ulster-Scots ‘rhyming weaver’ of his generation. A close friend and associate of Samuel Thomson, he penned over 150 poems in his lifetime and became firmly established as the Bard of the common people. An account of his life and poetry can be found in the ‘Introduction’ to The Country Rhymes of James Orr by Philip Robinson (Belfast, 1992).
Doc. ref. no.: USLS/TB/Poetry/1800-1899/005
TO A SPARROW
On seeing some boys rob her Nest
Wee, wanton, little thought o’ birdie!
Pert, keen, an’ crouse, an unco wordie,
The stapple that sae lang has co’erd ye
Your faes are seisin’;
Shame fa’ them! can they no afford ye
The cauld house easin’?
What head o’ wit, wi’ sev’n years lear,
Cou’d mak’ a nest sae feat, an’ fair?
Eydent thou gather’t grass an’ hair,
Frae daun till dark;
Fou scar’d, when school-boys chanc’d to stare
Upo’ thy wark.
Mony a day’s hunger didst thou see,
While sittin’ close as close cou’d be;
Yet now before thy anxious e’e
They’ve rack’d thy housie,
An’ made thy helpless familie
The prey o’ pousie.
E’enow thy breast is just as sair
As wife’s wad be, wha’d see, or hear,
Sic fate, perforce, befa’ her dear
An’ dauted weans;
But och! thy troublers dinna care
How vast thy pains!
An’ yet they’re friety — sots wha’d gie
Their breasts, the swallows shield to be,
Deem’t nae offence to harrie thee;
Tho’ minds mair noble
Wi’ less remorse wad steal a tree,
Than breed thee trouble.
Sae, when a wretched widow’s sent
Frae some bit bield, whase leash is spent,
Tho’ a’ they hae be put to cant,
She views it calmly,
Till rich, rude ruffians teaze and taunt
Her gentle fam’ly.
Sae, when a carle, wi’ mickle pains,
Scrapes up some gear to lea’ his weans,
A band breaks in, an’ bins the banes
That late lay achin’,
An’ lea’s him reft o’ a’ his gains,
Sair-skaith’d, an’ quakin’.
Sae, now there’s monie suffrin’ sair
By biggin’ castles in the air;
But we twa will hae haudins there
Sae lang’s we’ve breath;
An’ laugh at a’ the sons o’ care
Wha sneak beneath.
Thou needna think this outrage odd,
For man’s to man, like goose and tod;
But still the brave will rapine, blood,
An’ guile bewaur o’,
An’ spare the creature o’ their God,
Tho’ but a Sparrow.
