Janet.

    Janet, she was trim and small,
    Swift her feet could go;
    Sandy, he was great and tall,
    Sandy, he was slow.

    Dark the curls on Janet's heid,
    Dark her een, and true;
    Sandy's hair was straicht an' reid,
    Sandy's een were blue.

    Sandy had been coortin' lang,
    Sandy wasna bold,
    Blushed when Janet trilled the sang,
    Sweet as it is old:

    "Gin a body meet a body
    Comin' through the rye,
    Gin a body kiss a body,
    Need a body cry?"

    Janet's lips were reid and ripe,
    Full o' sic delichts;
    Longing for them spoiled the pipe
    Sandy smoked o' nichts.

    Janet laughed when he would sigh,
    Janet wasna kin'.
    Spite o' a' as days went by
    Janet filled his min'.

    When in kirk he sat and heard
    Sermons deep and lang,
    Every fluttering bird ootside
    Seemed piping Janet's sang.

    Through the psalm, and through the prayer,
    Thought went wanderin' wide -
    O what were toil, what were care,
    Wi' Janet by his side?

    Janet, wi' the waist sae sma',
    Janet, dear indeed;
    Sermon, psalm, and prayer, and a',
    Sandy didna heed -

    Going hame at sober pace
    Made confession - sae:
    "Hearken, Lord! hide no Thy face
    Though I go astray.

    "Help me juist tae do my pairt -
    Win her if I can -
    Sae I plead wi' a' my hairt,
    Help a sinfu' mon!"

    Surely faith was in that prayer.
    Ere an hour went by
    Janet cam' wi' lichtsome air
    Through the fields o' rye.

    Sandy, tak' ye hairt o' grace -
    Surely 'tisna wrang -
    Here's the lass wi' saucy face,
    How runs Janet's sang?

    "Gin a body meet a body
    Comin' through the rye,
    Gin a body kiss a body
    Need a body cry?"

Jean Blewett

Jean Blewett was a Canadian author, journalist, and poet. Born in Scotia, Ontario, she became well-known for her poetry and was awarded the part of lyrical poet at the World’s Fair in Chicago, 1893. Her notable works were often published in literary magazines. Besides poetry, Blewett also wrote stories and worked as a journalist, gaining considerable respect in both fields. She passed away in Chatham, Ontario, in 1934. Her legacy remains a significant part of Canadian literary history.

Jean Blewett

The Criticism.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

Despair.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

The Idler.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

Thail Burn.

Jean Blewett, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Halloween

Sweep up the flure, Janet;
    Put on anither peat.
It's a lown and a starry nicht, Janet,
    And nowther cauld nor weet.

It's the nicht atween the Sancts and Souls
    Whan the bodiless gang aboot;
And it's open hoose we keep the nicht
    For ony that may be oot.

Set the cheirs back to the wa', Janet;
    Mak ready for quaiet fowk.
Hae a'thing as clean as a windin-sheet:
    They comena ilka ook.

There's a spale upo' the flure, Janet,
    And there's a rowan-berry!
Sweep them intil the fire, Janet,
    Or they'll neither come nor tarry.

Syne set open the outer dure--
    Wide open for wha kens wha?
As ye come ben to your bed, Janet,
    Set baith dures to the wa'.

She set the cheirs back to the wa',
   ...

George MacDonald

Fair Janet

The Text.--Of seven or eight variants of this ballad, only three preserve the full form of the story. On the whole, the one here given--from Sharp's Ballad Book, as sung by an old woman in Perthshire--is the best, as the other two--from Herd's Scots Songs, and the Kinloch MSS.--are slightly contaminated by extraneous matter.

The Story is a simple ballad-tale of 'true-love twinned'; but the episode of the dancing forms a link with a number of German and Scandinavian ballads, in which compulsory dancing and horse-riding is made a test of the guilt of an accused maiden. In the Scotch ballad the horse-riding has shrunk almost to nothing, and the dancing is not compulsory. The resemblance is faint, and the barbarities of the Continental versions are happily wanting in our ballad.


FAIR JANET

...

Frank Sidgwick

Bonnie Jean.

I.

    There was a lass, and she was fair,
        At kirk and market to be seen,
    When a' the fairest maids were met,
        The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.

II.

    And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
        And ay she sang so merrilie:
    The blithest bird upon the bush
        Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

III.

    But hawks will rob the tender joys
        That bless the little lintwhite's nest;
    And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
        And love will break the soundest rest.

IV.

    Young Robie was the brawest lad,
        The flower and pride of a' the glen;
    And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
        And wanton naigies nine or ten.

V.

    He gae...

Robert Burns

The Bonny, Bonny Dell

Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin sings,
Wi' a clip o' the sunshine atween his wings;
Whaur the birks are a' straikit wi' fair munelicht,
And the brume hings its lamps by day and by nicht;
Whaur the burnie comes trottin ower shingle and stane
Liltin bonny havers til 'tsel its lane;
And the sliddery troot wi' ae soop o' its tail
Is ahint the green weed's dark swingin veil!
Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang as I saw
The yorlin, the brume, and the burnie, and a'!

Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the primroses won,
Luikin oot o' their leaves like wee sons o' the sun;
Whaur the wild roses hing like flickers o' flame,
And fa' at the touch wi' a dainty shame;
Whaur the bee swings ower the white-clovery sod,
And the butterfly flits like a stray thouch...

George MacDonald

Tam I' The Kirk

O Jean, my Jean, when the bell ca's the congregation
Owre valley an' hill wi' the ding frae its iron mou',
When a'body's thochts is set on his ain salvation,
    Mine's set on you.

There's a reid rose lies on the Buik o' the Word 'afore ye
That was growin' braw on its bush at the keek o' day,
But the lad that pu'd yon flower i' the mornin's glory,
    He canna pray.

He canna pray; but there's nane i' the kirk will heed him
Whaur he sits sae still his lane at the side o' the wa,
For nane but the reid rose kens what my lassie gie'd him -
    It an' us twa!

He canna sing for the sang that his ain he'rt raises,
He canna see for the mist that's 'afore his een,
An a voice drouns the hale o' the psalms an' the paraphrases,
    Cryin' "Jean, Jean, Jean!"

Violet Jacob

Courtin', The

God makes sech nights, all white an' still
    Fur 'z you can look or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
    All silence an' all glisten.

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown
    An' peeked in thru' the winder,
An' there sot Huldy all alone,
    'Ith no one nigh to hender.

A fireplace filled the room's one side
    With half a cord o' wood in,
There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)
    To bake ye to a puddin'.

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out
    Towards the pootiest, bless her,
An' leetle flames danced all about
    The chiny on the dresser.

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,
    An' in amongst 'em rusted
The ole queen's-arm that Gran'ther Young
    Fetched back f'om Concord busted.

The very room, c...

James Russell Lowell