Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus | Page 8

frightened.?Gean-tree, a wild cheerry-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.?Neep, 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.?Warslin', wrestling.?Wauks, wakes.?Waur, worse.?Wean, infant.?Weepies, rag-wort.?Whaup, curlew.?Wildfire, summer lightning.?Writer, attorney.?Yett, gate.
MORE SONGS?OF ANGUS?AND OTHERS
By?VIOLET JACOB
Published at the offices of "Country?Life," 20 Tavistock Street, Covent Garden,?London, W.C. 2, and by George Newnes, LTD.,?8-11, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C. 2.?New York: Charles Scribner's Sons?MCMXVIII
To A. H. J.
Past life, past tears, far past the grave,?The tryst is set for me,?Since, for our all, your all you gave?On the slopes of Picardy.
On Angus, in the autumn nights,?The ice-green light shall lie,?Beyond the trees the Northern Lights?Slant on the belts of sky.
But miles on miles from Scottish soil?You sleep, past war and scaith,?Your country's freedman, loosed from toil,?In honour and in faith.
For Angus held you in her spell,?Her Grampians, faint and blue,?Her ways, the speech you knew so well,?Were half the world to you.
Yet rest, my son; our souls are those?Nor time nor death can part,?And lie you proudly, folded close?To France's deathless heart.
The whole of the poems under the heading In Scots appeared?in Country Life. Of the others, one or two have appeared in The Cornhill or The Outlook. They are all reprinted by kind permission of the respective editors.
CONTENTS
IN SCOTS
JOCK, TO THE FIRST ARMY?THE TWA WEELUMS?THE FIELD BY THE LIRK O' THE HILL?MONTROSE?THE ROAD TO MARYKIRK?KIRSTY'S OPINION?THE BRIG?THE KIRK BESIDE THE SANDS?GLORY?THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE?A CHANGE O' DEILS?REJECTED?THE LAST O' THE TINKLER
IN ENGLISH
FRINGFORD BROOK?PRISON?PRESAGE?THE BIRD IN THE VALLEY?BACK TO THE LAND?THE SCARLET LILIES?FROSTBOUND?ARMED?"THE HAPPY WARRIOR"?UNITY
IN SCOTS
JOCK, TO THE FIRST ARMY
O Rab an' Dave an' rantin' Jim,?The geans were turnin' reid?When Scotland saw yer line grow dim,?Wi' the pipers at its heid;?Noo, i' yon warld we dinna ken,?Like strangers ye maun gang--?_"We've sic a wale[1] o' Angus men_?That we canna weary lang."
An' little Wat--my brither Wat--?Man, are ye aye the same??Or is yon sma' white hoose forgot?Doon by the strath at hame??An' div' ye mind foo aft we trod?The Isla's banks before?--?--"My place is wi' the Hosts o' God,?But I mind me o' Strathmore."
It's daith comes skirling through the sky,?Below there's naucht but pain,?We canna see whaur deid men lie?For the drivin' o' the rain;?Ye a' hae passed frae fear an' doot.?Ye're far frae airthly ill--?--"We're near, we're here, my wee recruit,?An' we fecht for Scotland still."
[1] Choice.
THE TWA WEELUMS
I'm Sairgeant Weelum Henderson frae Pairth,
That's wha I am!?There's jist ae bluidy regiment on airth
That's worth a damn;?An' gin the bonniest fechter o' the lot
Ye seek to see,?Him that's the best--whaur ilka man's a Scot--
Speir you at me!
Gin there's a hash o' Gairmans pitten oot
By aichts an' tens,?That Wully Henderson's been thereaboot
A'body kens.?Fegs-aye! Yon Weelum that's in Gairmanie,
He hadna reckoned?Wi' Sairgeant Weelum Henderson, an' wi'
The Forty-Second!
Yon day we lichtit on the shores o' France,
The lassies standin'?Trod ilk on ither's taes to get the chance
To see us landin';?The besoms! O they smiled to me--an' yet
They couldna' help it,?(Mysel', I just was thinkin' foo we'd get
The Gairmans skelpit.)
I'm wearied wi' them, for it's aye the same
Whaure'er we gang,?Oor Captain thinks we've got his een to blame,
But, man! he's wrang;?I winna say he's no as smairt a lad
As ye micht see?Atween twa Sawbaths--aye, he's no sae bad,
But he's no me!
Weel, let the limmers bide; their bonnie lips
Are fine an' reid;?But me an' Weelum's got to get to grips
Afore we're deid;?An' gin he thinks he hasn't met his match
He'll sune be wiser.?Here's to mysel'! Here's to the auld Black Watch!
An' damn the Kaiser!
THE FIELD BY THE LIRK O' THE HILL
Daytime an' nicht,?Sun, wind an' rain;?The lang, cauld licht?O' the spring months again.?The yaird's a' weed,?An' the fairm's a' still--?Wha'll sow the seed?I' the field by the lirk o' the hill?
Prood maun ye lie,?Prood did ye gang;?Auld, auld am I,?But O! life's lang!?Gaists i' the air,?Whaups cryin' shrill,?An' you nae mair?I' the field by the lirk o' the hill--?Aye, bairn, nae mair, nae mair,?I' the field by the lirk o' the hill!
MONTROSE
Gin I should fa',?Lord, by ony chance,?And they howms o' France?Haud me for guid an' a';?And gin I gang to Thee,?Lord, dinna blame,?But oh! tak' tent, tak' tent o' an Angus lad like me
An' let me hame!
I winna seek to bide?Awa owre lang,?Gin but Ye'll let me gang?Back to yon rowin' tide?Whaur aye Montrose--my ain--?Sits like a queen,?The Esk ae side, ae side the sea whaur she's set her lane
On the bents between.
I'll hear the bar?Loupin' in its place,?An' see the steeple's face?Dim i'