TtfE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SAN WES' LA JOLLA. CALIFORNIA SONGS OF ANGUS SONGS OF ANGUS BY VIOLET JACOB rHOR or " FLEMIN'GTON " LONDON JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. 1915 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED NOTE I HAVE to thank the Editors of the Cornhill Magazine, Country Life, and The Outlook, respectively, for their permission to reprint in this Collection such of the following poems as they have published. V. J. PREFACE THERE are few poets to-day who write in the Scots vernacular, and the modesty of the supply is perhaps determined by the slenderness of the demand, for pure Scots is a tongue which in the changes of the age is not widely understood, even in Scotland. The various accents remain, but the old words tend to be forgotten, and we may be in sight of the time when that noble speech shall be degraded to a northern dialect of English. The love of all vanishing things burns most strongly in those to whom they are a memory rather than a presence, and it is not unnatural that the best Scots poetry of our day should have been written by exiles. Stevenson, weary- ing for his " hills of home," found a romance in the wet Edinburgh streets, which might have passed unnoticed had he been condemned to live in the grim reality. And we have Mr. Charles Murray, who in the South African veld writes viii PREFACE Scots, not as an exercise, but as a living speech, and recaptures old moods and scenes with a freshness which is hardly possible for those who with their own eyes have watched the fading of the outlines. It is the rarest thing, this use of Scots as a living tongue, and perhaps only the exile can achieve it, for the Scot at home is apt to write it with an antiquarian zest, as one polishes Latin hexameters, or with the exaggera- tions which are permissible in what does not touch life too nearly. But the exile uses the Doric because it is the means by which he can best express his importunate longing. Mrs. Jacob has this rare distinction. She writes Scots because what she has to say could not be written otherwise and retain its peculiar quality. It is good Scots, quite free from mis- spelt English or that perverted slang which too often nowadays is vulgarising the old tongue. But above all it is a living speech, with the accent of the natural voice, and not a skilful t mosaic of robust words, which, as in sundry poems of Stevenson, for all the wit and skill remains a mosaic. The dialect is Angus, with PREFACE ix unfamiliar notes to my Border ear, and in every song there is the sound of the east wind and the rain. Its chief note is longing, like all the poetry of exiles, a chastened melancholy which finds comfort in the memory of old unhappy things as well as of the beatitudes of youth. The metres are cunningly chosen, and are most artful when they are simplest ; and in every case they provide the exact musical counterpart to the thought. Mrs. Jacob has an austere con- science. She eschews facile rhymes and worn epithets, and escapes the easy cadences of hymnology which are apt to be a snare to the writer of folk-songs. She has many moods, from the stalwart humour of " The Beadle o' Drum- lee," and " Jeemsie Miller," to the haunting lilt of " The Gean-Trees," and the pathos of " Craigo Woods " and " The Lang Road." But in them all are the same clarity and sincerity of vision and clean beauty of phrase. Some of us who love the old speech have in our heads or in our note-books an anthology of modern Scots verse. It is a small collection if we would keep it select. Beginning with x PREFACE Principal Shairp's " Bush aboon Traquair," it would include the wonderful Nithsdale ballad of " Kirkbride," a few pieces from Underwoods, Mr. Hamish Hendry's " Beadle," one or two of Hugh Haliburton's Ochil poems, Mr. Charles Murray's " Whistle" and his versions of Horace, and a few fragments from the " poet's corners" of country newspapers. To my own edition of this anthology I would add unhesitatingly Mrs. Jacob's " Tarn i' the Kirk," and " The Gowk." JOHN BUCHAN. CONTENTS PAGE TAM l' THE KIRK ...... I THE HOWE O' THE MEARNS .... 3 THE LANG ROAD 6 I THE BEADLE O' DRUMLEE .... 9 THE WATER-HEN II THE HEID HORSEMAN 13 JEEMSIE MILLER 15 THE GEAN-TREES IQ ' THE TOD 21 THE BLIND SHEPHERD . . . . .23 THE DOO'COT UP THE BRAES . . . -25 LOGIE KIRK ....... 28 THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE DITCH . . .29 THE LOST LIGHT 3! xii CONTENTS PAGfi THE LAD I' THE MUNE 35 THE GOWK . 37 -j/ THE JACOBITE LASS 39 MAGGIE 41 THE WHUSTLIN' LAD 43 HOGMANAY 46 CRAIGO WOODS 48 THE WILD GEESE ...... 50 SONGS OF ANGUS TAM I' THE KIRK O JEAN, my Jean, when the bell ca's the congre- gation 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. i 2 SONGS OF ANGUS 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, And a voice drouns the hale o' the psalms an' the paraphrases, Cryin' " Jean, Jean, Jean ! " THE HOWE O' THE MEARNS LADDIE, my lad, when ye gang at the tail o' the plough An' the days draw in, When the burnin' yellow's awa' that was aince a-lowe On the braes o' whin, Do ye mind o' me that's deaved wi' the wearyfu' south An' it's puir concairns While the weerjies fade on the knowes at the river's mouth In the Howe o' the Mearns ? There was nae twa lads frae the Grampians doon to the Tay That could best us twa ; At bothie or dance, or the field on a fitba' day, We could sort them a' ; 3 4 SONGS OF ANGUS An' at courtin'-time when the stars keeked doon on the glen An' its theek o' fairns, It was you an' me got the pick o' the basket then In the Howe o' the Mearns. London is fine, an' for ilk o' the lasses at hame There'll be saxty here, But the springtime comes an' the hairst an it's aye the same Through the changefu' year. O, a lad thinks lang o' hame ere he thinks his fill As his breid he aims An' they're thrashin' noo at the white fairm up on the hill In the Howe o' the Mearns. Gin I mind mysel' an' toil for the lave o' my days While I've een to see, When I'm auld an' done wi' the fash o' their English ways I'll come hame to dee ; THE HOWE O' THE MEARNS 5 For the lad dreams aye o' the prize that the man' 11 get, But he lives an' lairns, An' it's far, far 'ayont him still but it's farther yet To the Howe o' the Mearns. Laddie, my lad, when the hair is white on yer pow An' the work's put past, When yer hand's owre auld an' heavy to haud the plough I'll win hame at last, And we'll bide our time on the knowes whaur the broom stands braw An' we played as bairns, Till the last lang gloamin' shall creep on us baith an' fa' On the Howe o' the Mearns. THE LANG ROAD BELOW the braes o' heather, and far alang the glen, The road rins southward, southward, that grips the souls o' men, That draws their fitsteps aye awa' frae hearth and frae fauld, That pairts ilk freen' frae ither, and the young frae the auld. And whiles I stand at mornin' and whiles I stand at nicht, To see it through the ghaisty gloom, gang slippin oot o sicht ; There's mony a lad will ne'er come back amang his ain to lie, An' its lang, lang waitin' till the time gangs by. And far ayont the bit o' sky that lies abune the hills, There is the black toon standin* mid the roarin' o' the mills. 6 THE LANG ROAD 7 Whaur the reek frae mony engines hangs 'atween it and the sun And the lives are weary, weary, that are just begun. Doon yon lang road that winds awa' my ain three sons they went, They turned their faces southward frae the glens they aye had kent, And twa will never see the hills wi' livin' een again, An' it's lang, lang waitin' while I sit my lane. For ane lies whaur the grass is high abune the gallant deid, And ane whaur England's michty ships sail proud abune his heid, They couldna' sleep mair saft at hame, the twa that sairved their king, Were they laid aside their ain kirk yett, i' the flower o' the ling. But whaur the road is twistin' through yon streets o' care an' sin, My third braw son toils nicht and day for the gowd he fain would win, 8 SONGS OF ANGUS Whaur ilka man grapes i' the dark to get his neebour's share, An' it's lang, lang strivin' i' the mirk that's there. The een o' love can pierce the mools that hide a sodger's grave, An' love that doesna' heed the sod will neither hear the wave, But it canna' see 'ayont the cloud that hauds my youngest doon Wi' its mist o' greed an' sorrow i' the smokin' toon. And whiles, when through the open door there fades the deein' licht, I think I hear my ain twa men come up the road at nicht, But him that bides the nearest seems the furthest aye frae me And it's lang, lang listenin' till I hear the three ! THE BEADLE O' DRUMLEE THEM that's as highly placed as me (Wha am the beadle o' Drumlee) Should na be prood, nor yet owre free. Me an' the meenister, ye ken, Are no the same as a' thae men We hae for neebours i' the glen. The Lord gie'd him some lairnin' sma' And me guid sense abune them a', And them nae wuts to ken wha's wha. Ye'd think, to hear the lees they tell, The Sawbath day could mind itsel' Withoot a hand to rug the bell, Ye'd think the Reverend Paitrick Broun Could ca' the Bible up an' doon An' loup his lane in till his goon. 9 io SONGS OF ANGUS Whiles, gin he didna get frae me The wiselike word I weel can gie, Whaur wad the puir bit callant be ? The elders, Ross an' Weellum Aird, An' fowk like Alexander Caird, That think they're cocks o' ilka yaird, Fegs aye ! they'd na be sweir to rule A lad sae newly frae the schule Gin my auld bonnet crooned a fule ! But oh ! Jehovah's unco' kind ! Whaur wad this doited pairish find A man wi' sic a powerfu' mind ? Sae, let the pairish sleep at nicht Blind wi' the elders' shinin' licht, Nor ken wha's hand keeps a' things richt. It's what they canna understan' That brains hae ruled since time began, An' that the beadle is the man ! THE WATER-HEN As I gae'd doon by the twa mill dams i' the mornin' The water-hen cam' oot like a passin' wraith And her voice cam' through the reeds wi' a sound of warnin', "Faith keep faith! " " Aye, bird, tho' ye see but ane ye may cry on baith ! " As I gae'd doon the field when the dew was lyin', My ain love stood whaur the road an' the mill- lade met, And it seemed to me that the rowin' wheel was cryin', " Forgi'e forget, And turn, man, turn, for ye ken that ye lo'e her yet ! " As I gae'd doon the road 'twas a weary meetin', For the ill words said yest're'en they were aye the same, ii 12 SONGS OF ANGUS And my het he'rt drouned the wheel wi' its heavy beatin'. " Lass, think shame, It's no for me to speak, for it's you to blame ! " As I gae'd doon by the toon when the day was springin' The Baltic brigs lay thick by the soundin' quay And the riggin' hummed wi' the sang that the wind was singin', " Free gang free, For there's mony a load on shore may be skailed at sea ! " When I cam' hame wi' the thrang o' the years 'ahint me There was naucht to see for the weeds and the lade in spate, But the water-hen by the dams she seemed aye to mind me, Cryin' " Hope wait ! " " Aye, bird, but my een grow dim, an' it's late late ! " THE HEID HORSEMAN ALEC, up at Soutar's fairm, You, that's sae licht o' he'rt, 1 ken ye passin' by the tune Ye whustle i' the cairt ; I hear the rowin' o' the wheels, The clink o' haims an' chain, And set abune yer stampin' team I see ye sit yer lane. Ilk morn, agin' the kindlin' sky Yer liftit heid is black, Ilk nicht I watch ye hameward ride Wi' the sunset at yer back. For wark's yer meat and wark's yer play, Heid horseman tho' ye be, Ye've ne'er a glance for wife nor maid, Ye tak nae tent o' me. An' man, ye' 11 no suspec' the truth, Tho' weel I ken it's true, 4 '3 14 SONGS OF ANGUS There's mony ane that trails in silk Wha fain wad gang wi' you. But I am just a serving lass, Wha toils to get her breid, An' O ! ye'er sweir to see the gowd I braid about my heid. My cheek is like the brier rose, That scents the simmer wind, And fine I'd keep the wee bit hoose, 'Gin I'd a man to mind ! It's sair to see, when ilka lad Is dreamin' o' his joe, The bonnie mear that leads yer team Is a' ye' re thinkin' o'. Like fire upon her satin coat Ye gar the harness shine, But, lad, there is a safter licht In thae twa een o' mine ! Aye wark yer best but youth is short, An' shorter ilka year There's ane wad gar ye sune forget Yon limmer o' a mear ! JEEMSIE MILLER THERE'S some that mak' themsels a name Wi' preachin', business, or a game, There's some wi' drink hae gotten fame And some wi' siller : I kent a man got glory cheap, For nane frae him their een could keep, Losh ! he was shapit like a neep, Was Jeemsie Miller ! When he gaed drivin' doon the street Wi' cairt an' sheltie, a' complete, The plankie whaur he had his seat Was bent near double ; And gin yon wood had na been strang It hadna held oor Jeemsie lang, He had been landit wi' a bang, And there' d been trouble. Ye could but mind, to see his face, The reid mune glowerin' on the place, 15 16 SONGS OF ANGUS Nae man had e'er sic muckle space To baud his bonnet : And owre yon bonnet on his brow, Set cockit up owre Jeemsie's pow, There waggit, reid as lichtit tow, The toorie on it. And Jeemsie's poke was brawly lined, There wasna mony couldna' find His cantie hoosie i' the wynd, " The Salutation " : For there ye'd get, wi' sang and clink, What some ca'd comfort, wi' a wink, And some that didna care for drink Wad ca' damnation ! But dinna think, altho' he made Sae grand a profit o' his trade, An' muckle i' the bank had laid, He wadna spare o't, For, happit whaur it wasna seen, He'd aye a dram in his machine, An' never did he meet a freen' But got a share o't. JEEMSIE MILLER 17 Ae day he let the sheltie fa' (Whisht, sirs ! he wasna' fou na, na ! A wee thing pleasant that was a', An' drivin' canny) Fegs ! he cam' hurlin' owre the front An' struck the road wi' sic a dunt, Ye'd thocht the causey got the brunt And no the mannie ! Aweel, it was his hin'most drive, Aifter yon clour he couldna thrive, For twa pairts deid, an' ane alive, His billies foond him : And, bedded then, puir Jeemsie lay, And a' the nicht and a' the day Relations cam' to greet an' pray An' gaither roond him. Said Jeemsie, " Cousins, gie's a pen, Awa' an' bring the writer ben, What I hae spent wi' sinfu' men I weel regret it ; i8 SONGS OF ANGUS In deith I'm sweir to be disgrac't, I've plenty left forbye my waste, And them that I've negleckit maist It's them'll get it." It was a sicht to see them rin To save him frae the sense o' sin, Fu' sune they got the writer in His mind to settle ; And O their loss ! sae sair they felt it To a' the toon wi' tears they tell't it, Their dule for Jeemsie wad hae meltit A he'rt o' metal ! Puir Jeemsie dee'd. In a' their braws The faim'ly cam' as black as craws, Men, wives, an' weans wi' their mamas That scarce could toddle ! They grat an' they had cause to greet ; The wull was read that gar'd them meet The U. P. Kirk, just up the street, Got ilka bodle ! THE GEAN-TREES I MIND, when I dream at nicht, Whaur the bonnie Sidlaws stand Wi" their feet on the dark'nin' land And their heids i' the licht ; And the thochts o' youth roll back Like wreaths frae the hillside track In the Vale of Strathmore ; And the autumn leaves are turnin' And the flame o' the gean-trees burnin' Roond the white hoose door. Aye me, when spring cam' green And May-month decked the shaws There was scarce a blink o' the wa's For the flower o' the gean ; But when the hills were blue Ye could see them glintin' through 19 20 SONGS OF ANGUS And the sun i' the lift ; And the flower o' the gean-trees fa'in' Was like pairls frae the branches snawin' In a lang white drift. Thae trees are fair and gay When May-month's in her prime, But I'm thrawn wi' the blasts o' time And my heid's white as they ; But an auld man aye thinks lang O' the haughs he played amang In his braw youth- tide ; And there's ane that aye keeps yearnin' For a hoose whaur the leaves are turnin' And the flame o' the gean-tree burnin' By the Sidlaws' side. THE TOD THERE'S a tod aye blinkin' when the nicht comes doon, Blinkin' wi' his lang een an' keekin' roond an' roon', Creepin' by the fairmyaird when gloamin' is to fa', And syne there'll be a chicken or a deuk awa' Aye, when the guidwife rises, there's a deuk awa' 1 There's a lass sits greetin' ben the hoose at hame, For when the guidwife' s cankered she gie's her aye the blame, An' sair the lassie's sabbin' an' fast the tears fa', For the guidwife's tint her bonnie hen an' it's awa' Aye, she's no sae easy dealt wi' when her gear's awa' ! 5 21 22 SONGS OF ANGUS There's a lad aye roamin' when the day gets late, A lang-leggit deevil wi' his hand upon the gate, And aye the guidwife cries to him to gar the toddie fa', For she canna thole to let her deuks an' hens awa' Aye, the muckle bubbly-jock himsel' is ca'd awa' ! The laddie saw the tod gang by an' killed him wi' a stane And the bonnie lass that grat sae sair she sabs nae mair her lane, But the guidwife' s no contentit yet, her like ye never saw ! Cries she " This time it is the lass, an' she's awa' ! Aye, yon laddie's waur nor ony tod, for Bell's awa' ! THE BLIND SHEPHERD THE land is white, an' far awa' Abune ae bush an' tree Nae fit is movin' i' the snaw On the hills I canna see ; For the sun may shine an' the darkness fa', But aye it's nicht to me. I hear the whaup on windy days Cry up amang the peat Whaur, on the road that speels the braes, I've heard my ain sheep's feet, An' the bonnie lambs wi' their canny ways An' the silly yowes that bleat. But noo wi' them I mauna' be, An' by the fire I bide, To sit and listen patiently For a fit on the great hillside, A fit that'll come to the door for me Doon through the pasture wide. 23 24 SONGS OF ANGUS Maybe I'll hear the baa' in' flocks Ae nicht when time seems lang, An' ken there's a step on the scattered rocks The fleggit sheep amang, An' a voice that cries an' a hand that knocks To bid me rise an' gang. Then to the hills I'll lift my een Nae matter tho' they're blind, For Ane will treid the stanes between And I will walk behind, Till up, far up i' the midnicht keen The licht o' Heaven I'll find. An' maybe, when I'm up the hill An' stand abune the steep, I'll turn aince mair to look my fill On my ain auld flock o' sheep, An' I'll leave them lyin' sae white an' still On the quiet braes asleep. THE DOO'COT UP THE BRAES BESIDE the doo'cot up the braes The fields slope doon frae me, And fine's the glint on blawin' days O' the bonnie plains o' sea. Below' s my mither's hoosie sma', The smiddy by the byre Whaur aye my feyther dings awa' And my brither blaws the fire. For Lachlan lo'es the smiddy' s reek, An' Geordie's but a Me Wha' drives the plough his breid to seek, And Rob's to teach the schule ; He'll haver roond the schulehoose wa's, And ring the schulehoose bell, He'll skelp the scholars wi' the tawse (I'd like that fine mysel' !) 25 26 SONGS OF ANGUS They're easy pleased, my bothers three- I hate the smiddy's lowe, A weary dominie I'd be, An' I canna thole the plough. But by the doo'cot up the braes There's nane frae me can steal The blue sea an' the ocean haze An" the ships I like sae weel. The brigs ride out past Ferryden Ahint the girnin' tugs, And the lasses wave to the Baltic men Wi' the gowd rings i' their lugs. My mither's sweir to let me gang. My feyther gi'es me blame, But youth is sair and life is lang When yer he'rt's sae far frae hame. But i' the doo'cot up the braes, When a'tumn nichts are mirk, I've hid my pennies an' my claes An' the Buik I read at kirk, THE DOO'COT UP THE BRAES 27 An' come ae nicht when a' fowks sleep, I'll lift them whaur they lie, An' to the harbour-side I'll creep I' the dim licht o' the sky ; An' when the eastern blink grows wide, An' dark still smoors the west, A Baltic brig will tak' the tide Wi' a lad that canna rest ! LOGIE KIRK O LOGIE KIRK amang the braes, I'm thinkin' o' the merry days Afore I trod thae weary ways That led me far frae Logic ! Fine do I mind when I was young Abune thy graves the mavis sung An' ilka birdie had a tongue To ca' me back to Logic. O Logic Kirk, tho' aye the same The burn sings ae remembered name, There's ne'er a voice to cry " Come hame To bonnie Bess at Logic ! " Far, far awa' the years decline That took the lassie wha was mine An' laid her sleepin' lang, lang syne Amang the braes at Logic. 28 THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE DITCH AWEEL, I'm couped. But wha' could tell The road wad rin sae sair ? I couldna gang yon pace mysel', An' I winna try nae mair ! There's them wad coonsel me to stan', But this is what I say : When Nature's forces fecht wi' man, Dod, he maun just give way ! If man's nae framed to lift his fit Agin' a nat'ral law, I winna' lift my heid, for it Wad dae nae guid ava'. Puir worms are we ; the poo' pit rings Ilk Sawbath wi' the same, Gin airth's the place for sic-like things, I'm no sae far frae hame ! 6 29 30 SONGS OF ANGUS Yon's guid plain reas'nin' ; an' forbye, This pairish has nae sense, There's mony traiv'lin wad deny Nature and Providence ; For loud an' bauld the leears wage On men like me their war, Elected saints to thole their rage Is what they're seekin' for. But tho' a man wha's drink's his tea Their malice maun despise, It's no for naething, div ye see, That I'm sae sweir to rise ! THE LOST LIGHT (A PERTHSHIRE LEGEND) THE weary, weary days gang by, The weary nichts they fa', I mauna rest, I canna lie Since my ain bairn's awa'. The soughing o' the springtide breeze Abune her heid blaws sweet, There's nests amang the kirkyaird trees And gowans at her feet. She gae'd awa' when winds were hie, When the deein' year was cauld, And noo the young year seems to me A waur ane nor the auld. And, bedded, 'twixt the nicht an' day, Yest're'en, I couldna bide For thinkin', thinkin' as I lay O' the wean that lies outside. 3 1 32 SONGS OF ANGUS O, mickle licht to me was gie'n To reach my bairn's abode, But heaven micht blast a mither's een And her feet wad find the road. The kirkyaird loan alang the brae Was choked wi' brier and whin, A' i' the dark the stanes were grey As wraiths when I gae'd in. The wind cried frae the western airt Like warlock tongues at strife, But the hand o' fear hauds aff the he'rt That's lost its care for life. I sat me lang upon the green, A stanethraw frae the kirk, And syne a licht shone dim between The shaws o' yew and birk. 'Twas na the wildfire's flame that played Alang the kirkyaird land, It was a band o' bairns that gae'd Wi' lichts in till their hand. THE LOST LIGHT 33 O white they cam', yon babie thrang, A' silent o'er the sod ; Ye couldna hear their feet amang The graves, sae saft they trod. And aye the can'les nickered pale Below the darkened sky, But the licht was like a broken trail When the third wee bairn gae'd by. For whaur the can'le-flame should be Was neither blink nor shine The bairnie turned its face to me An' I kent that it was mine. An' O ! my broken he'rt was sair, I cried, " My ain ! my doo' ! For a' thae weans the licht burns fair, But it winna' burn for you ! " She smiled to me, my little Jean, Said she, " The dule and pain, O mither ! frae your waefu' een They strike on me again : 34 SONGS OF ANGUS " For ither babes the flame leaps bricht And fair and braw appears, But I canna keep my bonnie licht, For it's droukit wi' your tears ! " There blew across my outstreeked hand The white mist o' her sark, But I couldna reach yon babie band For it faded i' the dark. My ain, my dear, your licht shall burn Although my een grow blind, Although they twa to saut should turn Wi' the tears that lie behind. O Jeanie, on my bended knee I'll pray I may forget, My grief is a' that's left to me, But there's something dearer yet ! THE LAD I' THE MUNE O GIN I lived i' the gowden mune Like the mannie that smiles at me, I'd sit a' nicht in my hoose abune And the wee-bit stars they wad ken me sune, For I'd sup my brose wi' a gowden spune And they wad come out to see ! II For weel I ken that the mune's his ain And he is the maister there ; A' nicht he's lauchin', for, fegs, there's nane To draw the blind on his windy-pane And tak' an' bed him, to lie his lane And pleasure himsel' nae mair. 35 36 SONGS OF ANGUS III Says I to Grannie, " Keek up the glen Abune by the rodden tree, There's a braw lad 'yont i' the mune, ye ken." Says she, " Awa' wi' ye, bairn, gang ben, For noo it's little I fash wi' men An' it's less that they fash wi' me ! " IV When I'm as big as the tinkler-man That sings i' the loan a' day, I'll bide wi' him i' the tinkler- van Wi' a wee-bit pot an' a wee-bit pan ; But I'll no tell Grannie my bonnie plan, For I dinna ken what she'll say. V And, nicht by nicht, we will a' convene And we'll be a cantie three ; We'll lauch an' crack i' the loanin' green, The kindest billies that ever was seen, The tinkler-man wi' his twinklin' een And the lad i' the mune an' me ! I see the Gowk an' the Gowk sees me Beside a berry-bush by the aipple-tree. Old Scots Rhyme. TIB, my auntie's a deil to wark, Has me risin' 'afore the sun ; Aince her held is abune her sark Then the clash o' her tongue's begun ! Warslin', steerin' wi' hens an' swine, Naucht kens she o' a freend o' mine But the Gowk that bides i' the woods o' Dun He kens him fine ! Past the yaird an' ahint the stye, O the aipples grow bonnilie ! Tib, my auntie, she canna' spy Wha comes creepin' to kep wi' me. Aye ! she'd sort him, for, dod, she's fell ! Whisht now, Jimmie, an' hide yersel' An' the wise-like bird i' the aipple-tree He winna' tell ! 37 38 SONGS OF ANGUS Aprile-month, or the aipples flower, Tib, my auntie, will rage an' ca' ; Jimmie lad, she may rin an' glower What care I ? We'll be far awa ! Let her seek me the leelang day, Wha's to tell her the road we'll gae ? For the cannie Gowk, tho' he kens it a', He winna' say ! THE JACOBITE LASS MY love stood at the loanin' side An' held me by the hand, The bonniest lad that e'er did bide In a' this waefu' land There's but ae bonnier to be seen Frae Pentland to the sea, And for his sake but yestere'en I sent my love frae me. I gi'ed my love the white white rose That's at my feyther's wa', It is the bonniest flower that grows Whaur ilka flower is braw ; There's but ae bonnier that I ken Frae Perth unto the main, An' that's the flower o' Scotland's men That's fechtin' for his ain. 39 40 SONGS OF ANGUS Gin I had kept whate'er was mine As I hae gie'd my best, My he'rt were licht by day, and syne The nicht wad bring me rest ; There is nae heavier he'rt to find Frae Forfar toon to Ayr, As aye I sit me doon to mind On him I see nae mair. Lad, gin ye fa' by Chairlie's side To rid this land o* shame, There winna be a prooder bride Than her ye left at hame, But I will seek ye whaur ye sleep Frae lawlands to the peat, An' ilka nicht at mirk I'll creep To lay me at yer feet. MAGGIE MAGGIE, I ken that ye are happ'd in glory And nane can gar ye greet ; The joys o' Heaven are evermair afore ye, It's licht about yer feet. I ken nae waefu' thochts can e'er be near ye Nor sorrow fash yer mind, In yon braw place they winna let ye weary For him ye left behind. Thae nichts an' days when dule seems mair nor double I'll need to dae my best, For aye ye took the half o' ilka trouble, And noo I'd hae ye rest. Yer he'rt'll be the same he'rt since yer flittin', Gin auld love doesna tire, Sae dinna look an' see yer lad that's sittin' His lane aside the fire. 41 42 SONGS OF ANGUS The sky is keen wi' dancin' stars in plenty, The New Year frost is strang ; But, O my lass ! because the Auld Year kent ye I'm sweir to let it gang ! But time drives forrit ; and on ilk December There waits a New Year yet, And naething bides but what our he'rts remem- ber Maggie, ye' 11 na forget ? THE WHUSTLIN' LAD THERE'S a wind comes doon frae the braes when the licht is spreadin' Chilly an' grey, An' the auld cock craws at the yett o' the muir- land steadin' Cry in' on day ; The hoose lies sound an' the sma' mune's deein' an' weary Watchin' her lane, The shadows creep by the dyke an' the time seems eerie, But the lad i' the fields he is whustlin' cheery, cheery, 'Yont i' the rain. My mither stirs as she wauks wi' her twa een blinkin', Bedded she'll bide, 43 44 SONGS OF ANGUS For foo can an auld wife ken what a lassie's thinkin' Close at her side ? Mither, lie still, for ye're needin' a rest fu' sairly, Weary an' worn, Mither, I'll rise, an' ye ken I'll be warkin' fairly An' I dinna ken wha can be whustlin', whustlin', airly, Lang or it's morn ! Gin ye hear a sound like the sneck o' the back- door turnin', Fash na for it ; It's just the crack i' the lum o' the green wood burnin', 111 to be lit ; Gin ye hear a step, it's the auld mear loose i' the stable Stampin' the strae, Or mysel' that's settin' the parritch-spunes on the table, Sae turn ye aboot an' sleep, mither, sleep while ye're able, Rest while ye may. THE WHUSTLIN' LAD 45 Up at the steadin' the trail of the mist has liftit Clear frae the ground, Mither breathes saft an' her face to the wa' she's shiftit Aye, but she's sound ! Lad, ye may come, for there's nane but mysel' will hear ye Oot by the stair, But whustle you on an' I winna hae need to fear ye. For, laddie, the lips that keep whustlin', whust- lin' cheery Canna dae mair ! HOGMANAY (TO A PIPE TUNE) O, IT'S fine when the New and the Auld Year meet, An' the lads gang roarin' i' the lichtit street, An' there's me and there's Alick an' the miller's loon, An' Geordie that's the piper oot o' Forfar toon. Geordie Faa ! Geordie Faa ! Up wi' the chanter, lad, an' gie's a blaw ! For we'll step to the tune while we've feet in till oor shune, Tho' the bailies an' the provost be to sort us a' ! We've three bonnie bottles, but the third ane's toom, Gin' the road ran whisky, it's mysel' wad soom ! 4 6 HOGMANAY 47 But we'll stan' while we can, an' be dancin' while we may, For there's twa we hae to finish, an' it's Hog- manay. Geordie Faa ! Geordie Faa ! There's an auld carle glow'rin' oot ahint yon wa', But we'll sune gar him loup to the pipin' till he coup, For we'll gi'e him just a drappie, an' he'll no say na ! My heid's dementit an' my feet's the same, When they'll no wark thegither it's a lang road hame ; An' we've twa miletotraivel or it's mair like three, But I've got a grip o' Alick, an' ye'd best grip me. Geordie Faa ! Geordie Faa ! The morn's near brakin" an' we'll need awa', Gin ye're aye blawin' strang, then we'll maybe get alang, An' the deevil tak' the laddie that's the first to fa* I CRAIGO WOODS CRAIGO WOODS, wi' the splash o' the cauld rain beatin' I' the back end o' the year, When the clouds hang laigh wi' the weicht o' their load o' greetin' And the autumn wind's asteer ; Ye may stand like ghaists, ye may fa' i' the blast that's cleft ye To rot i' the chilly dew, But when will I mind on aucht since the day I left ye Like I mind on you on you ? Craigo Woods, i' the licht o' September sleepin' And the saft mist o' the morn, When the hairst climbs to yer feet, an' the sound o' reapin' Comes up frae the stookit corn, 4 8 CRAIGO WOODS 49 And the braw reid puddock-stules are like jewels blinkin' And the bramble happs ye baith, O what do I see, i' the lang nicht, lyin' an' thinkin' As I see yer wraith yer wraith ? There's a road to a far-aff land, an' the land is yonder Whaur a' men's hopes are set; We dinna ken foo lang we maun hae to wander, But we'll a' win to it yet ; An' gin there's woods o' fir an' the licht atween them, I winna speir its name, But I'll lay me doon by the puddock-stules when I've seen them, An' I'll cry " I'm hame I'm hame !" THE WILD GEESE " O TELL me what was on yer road, ye roarin' norlan' Wind, As ye cam' blawin' frae the land that's niver frae my mind ? My feet they traivel England, but I'm dee' in for the north." " My man, I heard the siller tides rin up the Firth o' Forth." " Aye, Wind, I ken them weel eneuch, and fine they fa' an' rise, And fain I'd feel the creepin' mist on yonder shore that lies, But tell me, ere ye passed them by, what saw ye on the way ? " " My man, I rocked the rovin' gulls that sail abune the Tay." so THE WILD GEESE 51 " But saw ye naething, leein' Wind, afore ye cam' to Fife ? There's muckle lyin' 'yont the Tay that's mair to me nor life." " My man, I swept the Angus braes ye hae'na trod for years." " O Wind, forgi'e a hameless loon that canna see for tears ! " " And far abune the Angus straths I saw the wild geese flee, A lang, lang skein o' beatin' wings, wi' their heids towards the sea, And aye their cryin' voices trailed ahint them on the air " " O Wind, hae maircy, haud yer whisht, for I daurna listen mair ! " GLOSSARY Airt, point (of compass). Billies, cronies. Braws, finery. Bubbly-jock, turkey-cock. Cankered, cross-grained. Causey, paved edge of a street. Chanter, mouth-piece of a bag-pipe. Clour, a blow. Coup, to fall. Deaved, deafened, bewildered. Droukit, soaked. Dunt, a blow. Fit, foot. Fleggit, frightened. Gean-tree, a wild cherry-tree Girnin' , groaning. Gowk, a cuckoo. Grapes, gropes. Hairst, harvest. Happit, happ'd, wrapped. Haughs, low-lying lands. Keek, peer. Kep, meet. Laigh, low. Lane, his lane, alone. Loan, disused, overgrown road, a waste place. Loon, a fellow. Lowe, flame. Lum, chimney. Mear, mare. Mill-lade, mill-race. Keep, turnip Poke, pocket Puddock-stules, toadstools. Rodden-tree, rowan-tree. Rug, to pull. Sark, shift, smock. Shaws, small woods. Sheltie, pony. Skailed, split, dispersed. Smoors, smothers. Sneck, latch. Soom, swim. Sort them, deal with them. Speels, climbs. Speir, to inquire. Steerin' , stirring. Sweir, loth. Syne, since, ago, then. Tawse, a leather strap used for correcting children. Thole, to endure. Thrawn, twisted. Tint, lost. Tod, fox. Toom, empty. Toorie, a knob, a topknot. Traivel, to go afoot ; literally, to go at a foot's pace. War si in', wrestling. Wanks, wakes. Waur, worse. Wean, infant. Weepies, rag-wort. Whaup, curlew. Wildfire, summer lightning. Writer, attorney. Yett, gate. Printed by Hazell, Watson & Vinty, Ld., London and Aylesbury. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 000 670 699 8