Alexander Anderson, a Scottish poet you’ve probably never heard of, was born on this date in 1845. His father worked in a stone quarry, and according to Wikipedia, so did Alexander, beginning at the age of sixteen. However, he found enough leisure time and reading material to teach himself German, French, and Spanish! And then he proceeded to read “the chief masterpieces in these languages.”

In 1870, when he was 25 years old, he began to send poetry in to the newspaper, and he signed his poems, The Surfaceman, because by this time he was working as a surfaceman (some kind of laborer) on the railway. People liked his poems well enough for him to have three or four books of poetry published, and he eventually became an assistant librarian, then head librarian, at the University of Edinburgh.

He wrote this poem, Cuddle Doon, about my children when I was trying to get them to go to bed, rather some children whose mother is putting them to bed. It’s worth reading through the Scots dialect to enjoy the sentiment and humor.

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht
Wi muckle faught and din.
“Oh try an’ sleep, ye waukrife rogues,
Your faither’s comin’ in.”
They niver heed a word I speak,
I try tae gie a froon,
But aye I hap’ them up an’ cry
“Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon!”

Wee Jamie wi’ the curly heid,
He aye sleeps next the wa’
Bangs up and cries, “I want a piece!”
The rascal starts them a’.
I rin and fetch them pieces, drinks,
They stop a wee the soun’,
Then draw the blankets up an’ cry,
“Noo, weanies, cuddle doon.”

But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab
Cries oot frae neath the claes,
“Mither, mak’ Tam gie ower at aince,
He’s kittlin’ wi’ his taes.”
The mischief in that Tam for tricks,
He’d bother half the toon,
But aye I hap them up an’ cry,
“Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon!”

At length they hear their faither’s fit
An’ as he steeks the door,
They turn their faces tae the wa’
An Tam pretends tae snore.
“Hae a’ the weans been gude?” he asks,
As he pits aff his shoon.
“The bairnies, John, are in their beds
An’ lang since cuddled doon!”

An’ just afore we bed oorsel’s
We look at oor wee lambs,
Tam has his airm roun’ wee Rab’s neck
An Rab his airm roun’ Tam’s.
I lift wee Jamie up the bed
An’ as I straik each croon,
I whisper till my heart fills up:
“Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon!”

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht
Wi’ mirth that’s dear tae me.
But soon the big warl’s cark an’ care
Will quaten doon their glee.
Yet come what will to ilka ane,
May He who rules aboon,
Aye whisper, though their pows be bald:
“Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon!”