A Child To His Sick Grandfather
Joanna Baillie
1762 to 1851
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Grand-dad , they say you're old and frail,
Your legs begin to fail:
Your staff, no more my now,
Supports your body bending low,
While back to you lean so sad,
I'm vex'd to see you, Dad.
You used to smile and stroke my head,
And me how good children did;
But now, I wot how it be,
You take me seldom on your knee,
Yet ne'ertheless I am right glad,
To sit beside you, Dad.
How lank and thin your beard hangs down!
are the white hairs on your crown:
How wan hollow are your cheeks,
Your brow is crossed with streaks;
But yet although his strength be fled,
I my own old Dad.
The housewives round their potions brew,
And gossips come to ask for you;
And for weal each neighbour cares;
And good men kneel and their prayers,
And every body looks so sad,
When are ailing, Dad.
You will not die and leave then?
Rouse up and be our Dad again.
When are quiet and laid in bed,
We'll doff our and softly tread;
And when you wake we'll still near,
To fill old Dad his cheer.
When through house you change your stand,
I'll lead you kindly the hand:
When dinner's set I'll with you bide,
aye be serving by your side;
And when the fire burns blue,
I'll sit and talk with you.
have a tale both long and good,
About a and her brood,
And greedy cunning fox that stole
dead of midnight through a hole,
Which slyly to hen-roost led,--
You love a story, Dad?
And I have a wondrous tale
Of men all clad coats of mail,
With glittering swords,--you nod,--I
Your heavy eyes begin to wink;--
Down on bosom sinks your head:--
You do not hear me, Dad.