Part 3
It's braw wi' the tweezlock to twine Lang rapes in the barn sae lythe, Yet better by far when it's fine, An' I gaither after his scythe.
O busy's the banster at e'en Till bedtime he sits an' he glooms, An' aye he cries "Lassie, a preen" An' worries the stobs in his thooms.
The laddie is tired wi' the rake, Sleep soon puts a steek in his e'e, An' I slip awa' to the break An' cannily gather my fee.
*WHERE LOVE WAS NANE*
At farmers' faugh lairds still may laugh, An' the tinker sing as he clouts the pan; But what will cheer my bairnie dear When he kens his father's a witless man?
Bought by a ring, puir silly thing, An' bent by the wind o' my kinsfolk's breath, Wha would gang braw, if that were 't a'?-- O! a loveless life it is waur than death!
Will land or hoose seem good excuse For a mither married where love was nane? It's hard for me, this weird to dree, But it's waur that I canna bear't my lane.
My puir wee bairn, ye'll live to learn How heavy the burden ye hae to bear. What's gold or name when born to shame, An' o' sic a twasome to be the heir?
*THE DEIL AN' THE DEEVILOCK*
The muckle Deil lay at the mirk pit mou', An' hard at his heel lay a Deevilock; While the brimstane reek wi' an upward spew Swirled roon' baith the Deil an' the Deevilock As their tails like flails were fannin' the air, Said the big ane then to the wee ane there: "In colour an' scouk we are sib as sins, Wi' a half ell mair we would pass for twins." ("A wee toad spits," quo' the Deevilock.)
"Since the warl' was made"--'twas the auld Deil spak'-- ("That's a far cry noo," quo' the Deevilock.) "I hae wandered far but I've aye come back." ("To a het hame too," quo' the Deevilock.) "Since first I set oot wi' a teem new creel, Haena mortals changed an' their ways as weel! For then I was thin an' had wark enew, Noo I'm fat as creesh, an' the furnace fu'." ("Improve the draught," quo' the Deevilock.)
"Then aften I swore at the cloven hoof," ("It's gey ill to shee," quo' the Deevilock.) "An' the horns an' tail scared mony a coof." ("Faith they hamper me," quo' the Deevilock.) "Gin' I taul' ye noo ye would scarce believe The bother I had wi' that besom Eve; But forbid her noo, ye would find, I ween, She would eat the crap while it yet was green." ("Syne lift the tree," quo' the Deevilock.)
"In the early days I would aften fail," ("Syne sae lood God leuch," quo' the Deevilock.) "To wile them awa' to my henchman Baal." ("Wasna auld Job teuch?" quo' the Deevilock.) "The brawest an' best o' my weel waled flock Struggled lang an' sair wi' a reeshlin' pock; I nickit him tho', at the hinder-end, Wi' the thirty croons that he couldna spend. ("He'd lots o' heirs," quo' the Deevilock.)
"But willin' an' keen they come half roads noo," ("Saul! in fair big croods," quo' the Deevilock.) "An' the backward anes are baith far an' few." ("Curse your platitudes," quo' the Deevilock.) "They crack roon' the fire, an' are nae mair blate Than a bonnet laird wi' a new estate; Their hands playin' smack on their birslin' shins As they lauch an' brag o' their former sins." ("Hame 's aye hame-like," quo' the Deevilock.)
"An' you, ye're the warst o' my horny crew"; ("I'm sorry I spak'," quo' the Deevilock.) "Nae an' antrin jot leavin' me to do." ("An' I aye blush black," quo' the Deevilock.) "For a hungry chiel ye've an open gate, Help the elder pooch fae his ain kirk plate; Nae a leein' man nor a faithless dame But is coontin' kin, when they hear your name." ("I'm 'Canny-chance,'" quo' the Deevilock.)
"Wi' the ministers ye are mair than thrang," ("Took a Sunday twice," quo' the Deevilock.) "Aye giein' them texts to support a wrang." ("Guid halesome advice," quo' the Deevilock.) "When in Auchterless ye suggest the prayer-- 'Show my duty, Lord, lies in Auchtermair'; An' when stipens shrink wi' the fa' in fiars, Siccan sizzons ban as ye mix your tears." ("We're a' ae claith," quo' the Deevilock.)
"Ye hae even dealt amo' stocks an' shares," ("Selled some to arrive," quo' the Deevilock.) "An' made likely men into millionaires." ("Hoot, our bairns maun thrive," quo' the Deevilock.) "Ye startit a war, an' to raise a loan Showed a spen'thrift king how to wadset 's throne; An' raikit them in fae the bench an' cell, Till the Fact'ry Act is in bits in Hell." ("Nae half-time there," quo' the Deevilock.)
"Nae a pleasant thing hae ye left aneth," ("There 's the company," quo' the Deevilock.) "An' a weary Deil canna look for death." ("Here 's lang life to me," quo' the Deevilock.) "It's Hell to hae naething to do but sit An' curse at the creak o' the birlin' spit; I'm red, red wi' rust, save the jinglin' keys, I'd swap wi' a god wha is fond o' ease." ("Ha! ha!--ha! ha!" quo' the Deevilock.)
*A BACKCAST*
How lanely the nichts by the auld ingle cheek, _Ohone, but a mither is nae like a wife,_ Regret on the creepie sits watchin' the reek, _An' whaur are the dainties to comfort my life?_
The backcast is dreary o'er years that are spent, _The rowan is withered, an' leafless the gean,_ They're gane noo for ever, but, eh! had I kent, _Grim winter is reignin' where summer was queen_
I dammed for the lade that had never a wheel, _The chickens were bonnie but noo they're awa',_ The castles I biggit gie other folk biel'. _O wae tak' the gled that gaed aff wi' them a'._
A lassie proved fickle, unfaithfu' a frien', _Tho' soorocks an' tansies grow green in the ha',_ An' a mither is a' I hae left o' my ain, _The ivy sae kindly aye covers the wa'._
*THE LAWIN'*
The way o' transgressors is hard; There cometh a day The Wicked will get their reward, The Devil his pay.
Cauld Death is the wages o' Sin: Stents finished, we rue: The thread, tho' sae pleasant to spin, Has connached the woo'.
As soon as we've emptied the caup The lawin's to clear; Tho' thistles be only the crap The sawer maun shear.
Sae let us consider it weel Ere joinin' the fling, The dancer when tired o' the reel Maun pay for the spring.
_Then coont on the Lawin', the Lawin', the Lawin',_ _Keep mind o' the Lawin', forget na the score;_ _We pay what we're awin', we're awin', we're awin',_ _We pay a' we're awin' when Death's at the door._
*THE GYPSY*
O wasna he bauld for a tinker loon,-- Sim leant on his rake an' swore-- To fling a' his wallets an' bawd-skins doon, An' rap at the castle door.
Wi' my Lord awa' at the Corbie's linn There was man nor dog at hame, Save a toothless bitch 'at was auld an' blin', An' the gard'ner auld an' lame.
When my Lady heard she cam' doon the stair, An' ben thro' the antlered ha', Whaur, bonnet in hand, stood the gypsy there As raggit as she was braw.
"O I hinna kettles to clout," she said, "An' my spoons an' stoups are hale, But gin ye gang roon' to the kitchen maid She'll gie ye a waucht o' ale."
"It's never the way o' the gentry, na, When visitin' 'mang their frien's, To drink wi' the maids in the servants' ha' Or speak about stoups an' speens.
"An' we are mair sib than ye think," quo' he, "For his Lordship's father's mine; Tho' the second wife was o' high degree, His first was a gypsy queyn.
"An' the younger son got the lands an' a', But the gypsies bettered me; He is only laird o' a fairm or twa, I'm king o' the covin-tree.
"Sae I am guid-brither to you, my lass, An' head o' the auncient name; An' it wouldna be richt for me to pass Withoot cryin' in by hame."
O a hantle then did the twasome say, An' muckle passed them between; But at last 'twas "Sister, a fair good day," "Guid-brither, a fair good e'en."
_"My Lord comes hame fae the hunttn' soon,_ _An' he's big, weel-faured, an' braw,_ _But he isna a man like the tinker loon,_ _Wi' wallets an' rags an' a'."_
_"Gin she were as free as the maids I ken,_ _Dancin' bar'fit on the green;_ _As I am the King o' the gypsy men,_ _This nicht she would be my Queen."_
_But the bluid ran thin in the gard'ner Sim,_ _He'd heard o' the cairds afore,_ _An' the auld romance had nae charms for him,_ _He lockit the hen-hoose door._
*"BYDAND"*
There's a yellow thread in the Gordon plaid, But it binds na my love an' me; And the ivy leaf has brought dool and grief Where there never but love should be.
For my lad would 'list: when a Duchess kiss't He forgot a' the vows he made; And he turned and took but ae lang, last look, When the "Cock o' the North" was played.
O, her een were bright, an' her teeth were white As the silver they held between; But the lips he pree'd, were they half as sweet As he vow'd 'at mine were yestreen?
A poor country lass, 'mang the dewy grass, May hae whiles to kilt up her goon; But a lady hie sae to show her knee, And to dance in a boro' toon!
Gin I were the Duke, I could nae mair look Wi' love on my high-born dame; At a kilt or plaid I would hang my head, And think aye on my lady's shame.
By my leefu' lane I sit morn an' e'en, Prayin' aye for him back to me; For now he's awa' I forgie him a' Save the kiss he was 'listed wi'.
*THE OUTLAW'S LASS*
_Duncan's lyin' on the cauld hillside,_ _Donal's swingin' on the hangman's yew:_ _Black be the fa' o' the sergeant's bride_ _Wha broke twa troths to keep ae tryst true._
The red-coats march at the skreek o' day, An' we maun lie on the brae the night; Then here's to them safely on their way, Speed to the mirk brings the mornin's fight.
Here's luck to me if you chance to fa', An' here's to luck if it favours you; For she's but ane, an' o' us there's twa, To him that's left may she yet prove true.
In days to come, when the reivers ride, They'll miss ae sword that was swift an' keen, An' you or I, as the Fates decide, Will curse the glint o' a woman's een.
A parting cup, we will drink it noo, Syne break the quaich to a shattered faith; Here's happiness to the lass we lo'e, The lying lass wha deceived us baith.
_The soldiers drink in the change-house freet_ _The tinker's clinkin' a crackit quaich;_ _But cuddlin' there on the sergeant's knee_ _Wha is the lass that is lauchin' laich?_
*CHARON'S SONG*
Another boat-load for the Further Shore, Heap them up high in the stern; Nae ane o' them ever has crossed before An' never a ane'll return. Heavy it rides sae full, sae full, Deep, deep is the River, But light, light is the backward pull, The River flows silently on.
A cargo o' corps that are cauld I trow-- They're grippy that grudge the fare-- An' the antrin quick wi' his golden bough That's swappin' the Here for There. Heavy it rides sae full, sae full, Slow, slow is the River, But light, light is the backward pull, The River flows silently on.
In vain will they look wha seek for a ford, Where the reeds grow lank an' lang: This is the ferry, an' I am the lord An' king o' the boat an' stang. Heavy it rides sae full, sae full, Black, black is the River, But light, light is the backward pull. The River, my River, flows on.
*VIRGIL IN SCOTS*
AENEID, BOOK III, 588-640
Neist mornin' at the skreek o' day The mist had newlins lifted; The sky, a whylock syne sae grey, To fleckit red had shifted: When suddenly our herts gaed thud To see a fremt chiel stalkin', Wi' timorous steps fae out the wud, As fleyed-like as a mawkin. Lod! sic a sicht, half hid in glaur, It made us a' feel wae, man; His hams were thin, his kyte was waur, It hung sae toom that day, man. His mattit beard was lang an' roch 's Gin it had ne'er been shorn; His kilt could barely fend his houghs Fae stobs, it was sae torn. A Greek was he, wha short afore At Troy was in the brulzie, An' tho' a halflin then, he bore A man's pairt in the tulzie. As soon's he spied our Trojan graith He nearhan' swarfed wi' fear; But maisterin' his dread o' skaith At last he ventured near. "I charge you by the stars," he cried, "And by the powers on high, To snatch me hence, nor lat me bide At Cyclops' hands to die. I'll no deny that I'm a Greek, Or that I was at Troy; Nor yet to hide the part, I'll seek, That I took in the ploy. Sae gin ye judge my fau't sae sair That grace ye daurna gie, Tear me to bits, fient haet I care, And sink me in the sea. I'll meet my death without a wird, If dealt by men like these," He said: syne flang him on the yirds An' glammoched at our knees, Wi' kindly mint we stilled his fear, Enquired his name an' clan, An' what fell bluffert blew him here Wi' sic a hertless flan. To set him further at his ease Anchises gae him 's han', An' heartened by our kindliness The chiel at last began: "My name is Achaemenides, An' Ithaca my land; An' some ooks syne I crossed the seas Wi' poor Ulysses' band. Oh, why left ever I my hame? I'd troubles there enew; My comrades left me, to their shame, When fae Cyclops they flew. Cyclops himsel', wha can describe? The stars are ells below him; Gude send we ne'er may hae to bide Within a parish o' him. His dungeon large, a hauddin' fit For sic an awsome gleed; There at his fae's dregies he'll sit And spairge aboot their bleed. Wi' horrid scouk he frowns on a' An' heedless o' their skraichs, He sweels their monyfaulds awa' Wi' wauchts fae gory quaichs. I saw him, sirs, as sure's I live, Ance as he lay at easedom, Twa buirdly chiels tak' in his neive, Syne careless fae him heeze them. They fell wi' sic a dreadfu' thud, Whaur stanes lay roun' in cairns; The causey ran wi' thickened blood Like stoorum made wi' harns. I watched him tak' their limbs an' cram Them ower his weel-raxed thrapple; The life scarce left the quivering ham That shivered in his grapple. But never was Ulysses slack To pay where he was awin', An' starkly did he gie him 't back, An' bravely cleared the lawin'. For while the hoven monster snored, An' rifted in his dreams, We first the great God's help implored An' blessing on our schemes; The kavils cuist: a feerious thrang Syne gaithered roond aboot, An' wi' a sturdy pointed stang We bored his ae e'e oot."
*HORACE IN SCOTS*
Ye needna speer, Catriona, nae spaewife yet could tell Hoo short or lang for you an' me the tack o' life will rin, We'll better jist dree oot the span as we hae dane the ell, Content gin mony towmonds still we're left to store the kin, Or this the last we'll see the rocks tashed wi' the weary seas; Hae sense an' set the greybeard oot; wi' life sae short for a' They're daft that plan ae ook ahead; Time keeks asklent an' flees E'en as we crack; the nicht is oors, the morn may never daw.
*HORACE IN SCOTS*
_Persicos odi_
Foreign fashions, lad, allure you Hamespun happit I would be; Bring nae mair, for I assure you Ferlies only scunner me.
Fancy tartans, clanless, gaudy, Mention them nae mair, I say; Best it suits your service, laddie, An' my drinkin', hodden-grey.
*HORACE IN SCOTS*
Tempt not the far oonchancie main, Nor fearin' blufferts, frien', Creep roon' fause headlan's; haud your ain Tack fair atween.
The gowden mids, wha aims at it Will shun the tinker's lair, Nor gantin' in a castle sit Whaur flunkeys stare.
The heichest fir storms aft'nest bow; Lums fa' wi' sairest dunt; When lightnings rive, bauld Morven's pow Drees aye the brunt.
Come weel, come wae, wi' hope or fear Prepare your heart for a'; The same Power sends the rain will clear The cloods awa'.
Tho' here the day ye've waes galore The morn may see them gone; Fate whiles lays by the dour claymore An' tunes the drone.
In trouble bauldly bear yoursel'; When thrivin', mind the fret-- "Tho' lang the pig gangs to the well, Its ae day's set."
*HORACE IN SCOTS*
HAIRRY
"When Leebie lo'ed me ower them a', An' deil a dearer daured to fling An airm aboot her neck o' snaw, I struttit crouser than the king."
LEEBIE
"When I was Hairry's only care, Afore he lo'ed me less than Jean, Wha spak' o' love at kirk or fail-- Set Leebie aye aboon the queen."
HAIRRY
"Noo Hielan' Jean has witched me sae, She harps an' sings wi' siccan skill, Cauld Death can streek me on the strae Gin he but spare my marrow still."
LEEBIE
"For Colin dear, my heart's alowe As his for me, Glen Nochty's heir, Fate twice at me may shak' his pow Gin he will still my laddie spare."
HAIRRY
"Gin tinker Love wi' clinks o' brass Bind baith oor hearts, an' I forget Red-headit Jean, an' you my lass-- Lang left--again see wide the yett?"
LEEBIE
"Tho' steady as a starn is he, An' you're like bobbin' cork, it's true, Wi' temper grumlie as the sea, I'd love an' live an' dee wi' you."
*HORACE IN SCOTS*
Kirsty, ye besom! auld an' grey, Peer Sandy's wrunkled kimmer, Death's at your elbuck, cease to play Baith hame an' furth the limmer.
Ongauns like yours lads weel may fleg Fae lasses a' thegither; Tibbie may fling a wanton leg Would ill set you her mither.
She Anra's bothy sneck may tirl An' loup like ony filly; Love stirs her as the pipers' skirl Some kiltit Hielan' billie.
Nane pledge or bring you posies noo; Auld wives nae trumps set strummin', For runts like you the Cabrach woo'-- It's time your wheel was bummin'.
*HORACE IN SCOTS*
Life an' love I'm by wi' a', Tho' I've had cause o' baith to brag; Hang dirk an' chanter on the wa', Nae mair I'll reive or squeeze the bag.
Whaur on the left my lantren gleams Weel gairdit by the sea-born queen, I lay my love an' war worn leems, Hae mony a midnicht tulzie seen.
O Venus, fae your island fair Wi' snawless mountains, hear an' help, Rax back your rung, an' ance--nae mair-- Gie saucy Meg a canny skelp.
*HORACE IN SCOTS*
Happy is he, far fae the toon's alairm Wha wons contentit on his forbears' fairm; Whistlin' ahint his owsen at the ploo, Oonfashed wi' siller lent or int'rest due. Nae sodger he, that's piped to wark an' meat, Nae bar'fit sailor, fleyed at wind an' weet, Schoolboard nor Session tempt him fae his hame, Provost or Baillie never heard his name; His business 'tis to sned the larick trees For lichened hag to stake his early peas, Or on his plaid amang the braes to lie Herdin' his sleekit stots an' hummel kye, Here wi' his whittle nick a sooker saft, There mark a stooter shank for future graft; Whiles fae a skep a dreepin' comb he steals, Or clips the doddit yowes for winter wheels. When ower the crafts blythe Autumn lifts her head Buskit wi' aipples ripe an' roddens red, He speels the trees the hazel nits to pu', An' rasps an' aivrins fill his bonnet fu',-- Fit gifts awat, for gods o' wood an' yaird To show the gratefu' husbandman's regaird. Ah, then 'tis pleasant on saft mossy banks 'Neath auncient aiks to ease his wearied shanks, Whaur hidden burnies rumblin' onwards row, An' liltin' linties cheer the peacefu' howe, An' babblin' springs, as thro' the ferns they creep Wi' ceaseless croonin' lull to gentle sleep. When stormy winter comes an' in its train Brings drivin' drift an' spates o' plashin' rain, Wi' dog an' ferret then he's roon' the parks Whaur rabbits in the snaw hae left their marks; Or brings wi' smorin' sulphur thuddin' doon The roostin' pheasant fae the boughs aboon, Or daunders furth wi' girn an' gun to kill White hares an' ptarmigan upon the hill. Wha mid sic joys would ever stop to fash Wi' trystin' queyns, their valinteens an' trash? But gin a sonsy wife be his, she'll help Wi' household jots, the weans she'll dead an' skelp, An'--Buchan kimmers ken the way fu' weel Or Hielan' hizzies--tenty toom the creel O' lang hained heath'ry truffs to reist the fire Against her man's return, fair dead wi' tire, An' byre-ward clatter in her creeshie brogues To fill wi' foamin' milk the scrubbit cogues, Syne fae the press the cakes an' kebbuck draw An' hame-brewed drink nae gauger ever saw-- Plain simple fare; could partans better please Or skate or turbot fae the furthest seas, Brocht to the market by the trawler's airt Hawkit fae barrows or the cadger's cairt? Nae frozen dainties, nae importit meat, Nae foreign galshochs, taste they e'er sae sweet, But I will match them fast as ye can name Wi' simple berries that we grow at hame-- Wi' burnside soorocks that ye pu' yoursel', Wi' buttered brose, an' chappit curly kail, Wi' mealy puddins fae the new killed Mart, Or hill-fed braxy that the tod has spar'd. What happier life than this for young or auld? To see the blackfaced wethers seek the fauld, The reekin' owsen fae the fur' set free Wear slowly hamewith ower the gowan'd lea, An' gabbin' servants fae the field an' byre Scorchin' their moleskins at the kitchen fire.
_The banker swore 'mid siccan scenes to die,_ _"Back to the land" was daily his refrain;_ _A fortnicht syne he laid his ledgers by,_ _The nicht he's castin' his accoonts again!_
*THE REMONSTRANCE*
Noo man, hoo can ye think it richt To waste your time, nicht after nicht, An' hunker in the failin' licht Wi' moody broo, Like some puir dwinin' thewless wicht Wi' death in view?
I've taul' ye aft aneuch it's nae As if ye'd aught 'at's new to say, Or said auld things some better way, Or like some callants Gat fouk to praise your sangs an' pay Ye for your ballants.
Instead o' vreetin' like a clerk Till bed-time brings alang the dark, Ye should be sportin' in the park An' hear the clamour Wad greet ye, should ye pass my mark Wi' stane or hammer.
Or tak' a daunder roon' the braes An' hear the blackies pipe their lays, The liftward laverock's sang o' praise, An' syne, my billie, Mak' nae mair verses a' your days-- Shut doon your millie.
*THE REPLY*
Tho' loud the mavis whistles now An' blackbirds pipe fae ilka bough An' laverocks set the heart alowe-- Mid a' the plenty You'd miss upon the wayside cowe The twitt'rin' lintie.
An' think you, when the simmer's gane, When sleet blaws thro' the leafless plane, An' bieldless birds sit mute an' lane, The woods a' cheerless, The namely robin on the stane Sings sweet an' fearless.