Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus | Page 4

strang
It hadna held oor Jeemsie lang,

He had been landit wi' a bang,
And there'd been trouble.
Ye could but mind, to see his face,
The reid mune glowerin' on the
place,
Nae man had e'er sic muckle space
To haud his bonnet:
An
owre yon bonnet on his brow,
Set cockit up owre Jeemsie's pow,

There waggit, reid as lichtit tow,
The toorie on it.
And Jeemsie's poke was brawly lined,
There wasna mony couldna'
find
His cantie hoosie i' the wynd,
"The Salutation":
For there
ye'd 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