Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus | Page 3

An'
love that doesna' heed the sod will naither 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.
An 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'
An me guid sense abune them
a',
An 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.

Whiles, gin he didna get frae me
The wicelike wird 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,
An it seemed to me that the
rowin' wheel was cryin',
"Forgi'e--forget,
An 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,
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
O Alec, up at Soutar's fairm,
You, that's sae licht o' he'rt,
I 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'll no suspec' the truth,
Tho' weel I ken it's true,
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're
sweir to see the gowd
I braid about my heid.

My cheek is like the brier rose,
That scents the simmer wind,
An
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