Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus | Page 5

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'UCOT UP THE BRAES
Beside the doo'cot up the braes?The fields slope doon frae me,?An 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 fule?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'!)
They're easy pleased, my brithers 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 oot 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,
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 Logie!
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 Logie.
O Logie 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 Logie!"
Far, far awa' the years decline?That took the lassie wha was mine?An' laid her sleepin' lang, lang syne?Amang the braes at Logie.
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 Natur'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!
Yon's guid plain raes'nin'; an' forby,?This pairish has nae sense,?There's mony traiv'lin wad deny?Natur 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 LICHT
(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,?An 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.
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.
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 flickered 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 naither 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:
"For ither babes the flame leaps bricht?And fair and braw appears,?But I canna keep