From The Gaberlunzie's Wallet by James Ballantine (Edinburgh: John Menzies, 1843), page 65:


THE BONNIE, BONNIE BAIRN.
James Ballantine

The bonnie, bonnie bairn, wha' sits pokin in the ase,
Glowerin in the fire wi' his wee round face;
Laughin' at the fuffin' lowe, what sees he there?
Ha! the young dreamer's biggin castles in the air.

His wee chubby face, an' his touzie curly pow
Are laughin' an' noddin' to the dancin' lowe,
He'll brown his rosy cheeks, an' 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 pu'in them a' doun;
Warlds whomling up an' down, bleezin 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 maks us think, a sma' thing maks us stare,—
There are mair folk 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, O 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 swallowed up by Night;
Aulder een than his are glamoured by a glare,
Hearts are broken—heads are turned—wi' castles in the air.