Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus | Page 4

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.
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;?In daith I'm sweir to be disgrac't,?I've plenty left forby my waste,?An 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, wifes, an' weans wi' their mamas?That scarce could toddle!?They grat--an' they had cause to greet;?The wull was read that garred 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?An their heids i' the licht;?An the thochts o' youth roll back?Like wreaths frae the hillside track?In the Vale o' 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?An the sun i' the lift;?An 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?An my heid's white as they;?But an auld man aye thinks lang?O' the hauchs he played amang?In his braw youth-tide;?An there's ane that aye keeps yearnin'?For a hoose whaur the leaves are turnin'?An 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'!
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'!
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,
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