She was Naebody's bairn, she was Naebody's bairn, She had mickle to thole, she had mickle to learn, Afore a kind word or kind look she could earn, For naebody cared about Naebody's bairn.
Though faither or mither ne'er own'd her ava, Though rear'd by the fremmit for fee unco sma', She grew in the shade like a young lady-fern, For Nature was bounteous to Naebody's bairn.
Though toited by some, and though lightlied by mair, She never compleened, though her young heart was sair, And warm virgin tears that might melted cauld airn Whiles glist in the blue e'e o' Naebody's bairn.
Though nane cheer'd her childhood, an' nane hail'd her birth, Heaven sent her an angel to gladden the earth; And when the earth doom'd her in laigh nook to dern, Heaven couldna but tak again Naebody's bairn.
She cam smiling sweetly as young mornin' daw, Like lown simmer gloamin' she faded awa, And lo! how serenely that lone e'ening starn Shines on the greensward that haps Naebody's bairn!
The bonnie, bonnie bairn sits pokin' in the ase, Glowerin' in the fire wi' his wee round face; Laughin' at the fuffin low--what sees he there? Ha! the young dreamer 's biggin' castles in the air!
His wee chubby face, an' his towzy curly pow, Are laughin' an noddin' to the dancin' lowe, He 'll brown his rosy cheeks, and singe his sunny hair, Glowerin' at the imps wi' their castles in the air.
He sees muckle castles towerin' to the moon, He sees little sodgers puin' them a' doun; Warlds whomlin' up an' doun, blazin' wi' a flare, Losh! how he loups, as they glimmer in the air.
For a' sae sage he looks, what can the laddie ken? He 's thinkin' upon naething, like mony mighty men, A wee thing mak's us think, a sma' thing mak's us stare,-- There are mair folks than him biggin' castles in the air.
Sic a night in winter may weel mak' him cauld; His chin upon his buffy hand will soon mak' him auld; His brow is brent sae braid, oh, pray that Daddy Care Wad let the wean alane wi' his castles in the air.
He 'll glower at the fire, an' he 'll keek at the light; But mony sparkling stars are swallow'd up by night; Aulder e'en than his are glamour'd by a glare, Hearts are broken--heads are turn'd--wi' castles in the air.
ILKA BLADE O' GRASS KEPS ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW.