Books and other items printed in Gaelic from 1871 to 1900 > Gaelic bards, and original poems

A FAIR DAY.
223
No chance to make but small bones of your legs;
Careful to steer between the talking groups
Of busy men and dressed and showy girls,
And as you slowly pass along, you note
Where, in the thoroughfare, the stands are set,
And boys with open mouth and staring eyes,
In soul devour the whole delicious stock,
They want the means one pennyworth to buy.
There, in his cart, the glib-mouthed auctioneer
Deals old, old wit, and long used up, around,
And cheats the rustics with his fluent tongue,
And much amazes them—he talks so well.
There, in bewilderment, a culprit stands,
Beneath the rattle of his brazen slang,
Who gave a bid in utter ignorance,
And much perplexed, now hesitating looks,
Hearing his opposite, with deep respect,
Quote in a breath his license and his Queen.
There, with his stand, the vendor of the nuts
Offers his bow, “Only a penny, gents!”
And eager youths come vieing for the prize,
“Sixty large nuts for him who hits the ring.”
There is the draper with his goods and clothes,
All ready-made, or bundled up in bales,
And moleskin, duck, or woolen garments, ranged,
Attract the eydent housewife’s careful eye;
While j)en-knives, walking-sticks, umbrellas blue,
Marked with huge tickets, tempt with tiny price.
There with her plain deal table, covered clean,
A spinster stands, or pawky auld guidwife,
Who dearly loves a cheering cup of tea.
Spread are her bowls and largest cups to view,
Half-filled with comfits purchased for the fair,
Bought at five shillings, which she’ll sell at twelve.