Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus | Page 7

ye left behind.
Thae nichts an' days when dule seems mair nor double
I'll need to dae
my best,
For aye ye took the half o' ilka trouble,
And noo I'd hae ye
rest.
Yer he'rt'll be the same he'rt since yer flittin',
Gin auld love doesna
tire,
Sae dinna look an' see yer lad that's sittin'
His lane aside the
fire.
The sky is keen wi' dancin' stars in plenty,
The New Year frost is
strang;
But, O my lass! because the Auld Year kent ye
I'm sweir to
let it gang!
But time drives forrit; and on ilk December
There waits a New Year
yet,
An naething bides but what our he'rts remember--
Maggie, ye'll
na forget?
THE WHUSTLIN' LAD
There's a wind comes doon frae the braes when the licht is spreadin'
Chilly an' grey,
An' the auld cock craws at the yett o' the muirland
steadin' Cryin' on day;
The hoose lies sound an' the sma' mune's
deein' an' weary
Watchin' her lane,
The shadows creep by the dyke
an' the time seems eerie,
But the lad i' the fields he is whustlin' cheery,
cheery,
'Yont i' the rain.
My mither stirs as she wauks wi' her twa een blinkin',
Bedded she'll
bide,
For foo can an auld wife ken what a lassie's thinkin'
Close at
her side?
Mither, lie still, for ye're needin' a rest fu' sairly,
Weary
an' worn,
Mither, I'll rise, an' ye ken I'll be warkin' fairly--
An' I
dinna ken wha can be whustlin', whustlin', aerly,
Lang or it's morn!
Gin ye hear a sound like the sneck o' the backdoor turnin', Fash na for it;


It's just the crack i' the lum o' the green wood burnin',
Ill to be lit;

Gin ye hear a step, it's the auld mear loose i' the stable
Stampin' the
strae,
Or mysel' that's settin' the parritch-spunes on the table,
Sae
turn ye aboot an' sleep, mither, sleep while ye're able, Rest while ye
may.
Up at the steadin' the trail o' the mist has liftit
Clear frae the grund,

Mither breathes saft an' her face to the wa' she's shiftit-- Aye, but she's
sound!
Lad, ye may come, for there's nane but mysel' will hear ye

Oot by the stair,
But whustle you on an' I winna hae need to fear ye,

For, laddie, the lips that keep whustlin', whustlin' cheery Canna dae
mair!
HOGMANAY
(TO A PIPE TUNE)
O, it's fine when the New and the Auld Year meet,
An' the lads gang
roarin' i' the lichtit street,
An' there's me and there's Alick an' the
miller's loon,
An' Geordie that's the piper oot o' Forfar toon.
Geordie Faa! Geordie Faa!
Up wi' the chanter, lad, an' gie's a blaw!

For we'll step to the tune while we've feet in till oor shune, Tho' the
bailies an' the provost be to sort us a'!
We've three bonnie bottles, but the third ane's toom,
Gin' the road ran
whisky, it's mysel' wad soom!
But we'll stan' while we can, an' be
dancin' while we may,
For there's twa we hae to finish, an' it's
Hogmanay.
Geordie Faa! Geordie Faa!
There's an auld carle glow'rin' oot ahint
yon wa',
But we'll sune gar him loup to the pipin' till he coup,
For
we'll gi'e him just a drappie, an' he'll no say na!
My heid's dementit an' my feet's the same,
When they'll no wark
thegither it's a lang road hame;
An' we've twa mile to traivel or it's

mair like three,
But I've got a grip o' Alick, an' ye'd best grip me.
Geordie Faa! Geordie Faa!
The morn's near brakin' an' we'll need
awa',
Gin ye're aye blawin' strang, then we'll maybe get alang,
An'
the deevil tak' the laddie that's the first to fa'!
CRAIGO WOODS
Craigo Woods, wi' the splash o' the cauld rain beatin'
I' the back end
o' the year,
When the clouds hang laigh wi' the weicht o' their load o'
greetin' And the autumn wind's asteer;
Ye may stand like gaists, ye
may fa' i' the blast that's cleft ye To rot i' the chilly dew,
But when
will I mind on aucht since the day I left ye
Like I mind on you--on
you?
Craigo Woods, i' the licht o' September sleepin'
And the saft mist o'
the morn,
When the hairst climbs to yer feet, an' the sound o' reapin'
Comes up frae the stookit corn,
And the braw reid puddock-stules are
like jewels blinkin'
And the bramble happs ye baith,
O what do I
see, i' the lang nicht, lyin' an' thinkin'
As I see yer wraith--yer wraith?
There's a road to a far-aff land, an' the land is yonder
Whaur a' men's
hopes are set;
We dinna ken foo lang we maun hae to wander,
But
we'll a' win to it yet;
An' gin there's woods o' fir an' the licht atween
them,
I winna speir its name,
But I'll lay me doon by the
puddock-stules when I've seen them, An' I'll cry "I'm hame--I'm hame!"
THE WILD GEESE
"O tell me what was on yer road, ye roarin' norlan' Wind,
As ye cam'
blawin' frae the land that's niver frae my mind? My feet they