Seeds in the Wind
Soutar, William
Published 1933
Come Awa
Come into the neuk;
Come awa, come awa;
It’s whistling yowdendrift o!
The müne’s gaen yont like a muckle heuk
To hairst the snaw frae the lift o!
Come into the lowe;
Come awa, come awa;
It blaws baith snell and sair o!
Noo the onding’s smoorin hicht and howe,
And the peesie wheeps nae mair o!
The Three Puddocks
Three wee bit puddocks
Sat upon a stane;
Tick-a-tack, nick-a-nack,
Brek your hawse-bane.
They lookit in a dub
And made nae sound
For they saw a’ the sterns
Gang whummlin round.
Then ane lauch’t a lauch
Gowpin wide his gab,
And plunkit doun into the dub
But naething could he nab:
And wi’ a mou o’ mools
He cam droukit out again:
Tick-a-tack, nick-a-nack,
Brek your hawse-bane.
Anither lauch’t a lauch
(Wha but gowks wud soom)
And cockit on his stany knowe
Afore the dub wud toom;
Then he growpit in the glaur
Where he thocht the sterns had gaen:
Tick-a-tack, nick-a-nack,
Brek your hawse-bane.
The hinmaist lauch’t a lauch
Coostin up his croun;
And richt into his liftit e’en
The sterns were lauchin doun.
Cauld, cauld, the wheeplin wind;
Cauld the muckle stane:
Tick-a-tack, nick-a-nack,
Brek your hawse-bane.
The Daft Tree
A tree’s a leerie kind o’ loon,
Weel happit in his emerant goun
Through the saft simmer days:
But, fegs, whan baes are in the fauld,
And birds are chitterin wi’ the cauld,
He coosts aff a’ his claes.
Wee Wullie Todd
O waes me for wee Wullie Todd
Wha aye was sayin Na!
For there cam by a whiffinger
And whuppit him awa.
His mither grat, his faither murn’d,
His tittie frunsh’d wi’fricht:
But grannie stampit through the house
And swore it sair’d him richt.
The Whup
Within the pooer o’ His grup
God’s forkit levin, like a whup,
Streeks a’ aroun’:
And blinds the e’en, and wi’ a crack
Richt on Ben Vrackie’s muckle back
Comes dingin doun.
The Gowdan Ba’
The muckle müne noo rows attowre
The humphie-backit brae;
And skimmers doun the Carse o’ Gower
And the fluther o’ the Tay.
O earth, ye’ve tin’d your gowdan ba’;
And yonder, in the nicht,
It birls clean on and far awa
Sae wee and siller-bricht.
The Twa Men’
Twa men there were: the ane was stout,
The ither ane was thin.
The thin man’s taes a’ schauchl’d out;
The stout man’s schauchl’d in.
When Ticky saw the splayvie ane
He glower’d and whurl’d about:
“I’m gled my taes are a’ turned in,
They micht hae a’ turn’d out.”
Up owre the brae auld Splayvie gaed
And aft a lauch he loot:
“It’s awfae to be ticky-taed,
I’m gled my taes gang out.”
Adventure
There was a fikety emmick
Skirr’d frae the emmick-toun:
It snowkit east, it snowkit west,
It snowkit up and doun.
It came upon a windle-strae
And warsl’d to the tap;
And thocht, nae dout, whan it was there:
Man, I’m a gallus chap.
Braid was the lift abüne it;
Wide was the world ablow’t:
And whatna ither emmick
Had seen sae muckle o’t?
Mirac’lous
The bubbly-jock’s been at the barm;
And wi’ a gibble-gabble
He’s styterin a’ about the farm
As weel as he is able.
Clabber-claich’t as onie caird,
And fou as onie lordie,
He’s stottin out and in the yaird
A maist mirac’lous birdie.
Jock Stot
Jock Stot gaed owre the snaw
Trottin on a grumphie:
Hadna rade sae far awa
Or he cowp’t aff its humphie.
Baith gat hame their ain way
But no wi’ ane anither:
Grumphie cam on naebody
But Jock cam on his faither.
Wha Steers
Wha steers in the quiet housie
Mair plisky nor a dream?
A feerie-fitted mousie
Rinnin owre the cream.
Up skips an aulder brither,
Wha is a mouse o’ micht,
Hauds on ahint the ither
And plunks clean out o’ sicht.
The Fricht
Whan Betsy Bodle gaed to the door
She gat a fearfu’ fricht,
For there a muckle blackamoor
Stüde up afore her sicht.
I dout, I dout, we’ll never ken
What he was speerin for,
Sin Betsy skelloch’d like a hen
And bangit frae the door.
By the Way
As robin sang on a willy-wan’
And thocht it mickle joy;
A blindie man and a humphie man,
And a pin-leg man cam by.
“I wudna be a humphie man”:
The blindie man was sayin:
“And I wudna be a blindie man”:
The ither was replyin.
Syne, wi’ a styte, the pin-leg man
Cried out: “Let be, lat be;
And whistle alang as weel as ye can
Like yon blythe bird on the tree.”
Ae Simmer’s Day
Up by the caller fountain,
A’ through a simmer’s day,
I heard the gowk gang crying
Abüne the ferny brae.
The reemlin licht afore me
Gaed up; the wind stüde still:
Only the gowk’s saft whistle
Lowden’d alang the hill.
The wee burn loppert laichly;
A bird cam and was gaen:
I keekit round ahint me
For I was a’ my lane.
Coorie in the Corner
Coorie in the corner, sittin a’ alane,
Whan the nicht wind’s chappin
On the winnock-pane:
Coorie in the corner, dinna greet ava;
It’s juist a wee bit goloch
Rinnin up the wa’.
Tam Teuch
There was a loonie ca’d Tam Teuch
Wha gat a spurtle-blade:
But it was hingin süne eneuch
Abüne his brither’s bed.
Ae nicht as Tam piu’d on his goun
In cam his brither Charlie;
Wi’ that the spurtle-blade drapp’t doun
And Tammie said: “Your early.”
Eeksy-Peeksy
The sun hov’d owre the braes o’ Balquidder
And wi’ a glisky glunt
Keek’t into the hoddie-hole o’ an edder
Doun by a heather runt.
“Aye! You’re a braw and gey brave body”:
Said the edder to the sun:
“But you’ll slunker awa to your ain hoddie
Afore the day is düne.”
Chittery Weather
The wintry day was gloaming-grey,
The blast swurl’d by in swithers:
Oot o’ a clüde wi’ a skirly scud
The floichans flurr’d like feathers.
Daiver’d and auld, and chittery cauld,
A houlet was houlity-hootin:
“Wha ever ye be in your nest sae hee
It’s a daft-like time for moutin.”
The Muckle Man
There was a muckle man
Wi’ a muckle black beard
Wha rade a muckle horse
Through a muckle kirk-yaird.
Hallachin and yallachin
He rattl’d on the stanes:
Hallachin and yallachin
He birl’d abüne the banes:
Up and doun and up and doun
Wi’ muckle steer and stour,
Wallopin a muckle whup
Owre and owre and owre.
Cradle Sang
Fa’ owre, fa’ owre, my hinny,
There’s monie a weary airt;
And nae end to the traikin,
For man has a hungry hert.
What wud ye hae for ferlie
And no ken the want o’ mair?
The sün for a gowdan aipple:
The müne for a siller pear.
The Lanely Müne
Saftly, saftly, through the mirk
The müne walks a’ hersel’:
Ayont the brae; abüne the kirk;
And owre the dunnlin bell.
I wudna be the müne at nicht
For a’ her gowd and a’ her licht.
Whup the Win’
A nacket o’ an ettercap
On a bowffy day
Wark’t himsel’ richt to the tap
O’ a windlestrae.
Wi’ a mouse-wab in his grup
He lowp’t on the win’;
Whuppit up, and whuppit up,
And yoller’d Rin! Rin!
Carol
Noo that the cock begins to craw
And mankit is the müne,
The wintry day is at the daw
And the lang nicht is düne.
Sing weel on ilka tree, O birds,
Or a’ the world were drear;
Sing weel, O birds, your warbling words
And lat the bairnie hear.
A Bairn’s Sang
Round and around and a three times three;
Polly and Peg and Pansy:
Round and around the muckle auld tree;
And it’s round a’ the world whan ye gang wi’ me
Round the merry-metanzie:
And it’s round a’ the world whan ye gang wi’ me
Round the merry-metanzie.
The wind blaws loud and the wind blaws hee;
Polly and Peg and Pansy:
Blaw, wind, blaw, as we lilt on the lea;
For it’s round a’ the world whan ye gang wi’ me
Round the merry-metanzie:
For it’s round a’ the world whan ye gang wi’ me
Round the merry-metanzie:
The Tinkler-Man
Whan I can clowt a kettle
And sowder a parritch-pan,
I’ll be a man o’ mettle,
Says the tinkler-man.
I’ll hae a trottin pownie
Wi’ bells abüne its broo;
A siller whup sae bonnie,
And a plaid sae blue.
Wi’ a kep that has a feather,
And wi’ buckles on my shüne,
I’ll cry in a’ weather:
Onie pats to men’?
Lowp up the Lum
Baudrons, though plankit unco snug,
Sits glowerin frae the chimley lug:
His twa e’en round; his head outset;
I warrant ye his neb is het.
He canna nod; he canna thrum:
A rogie’s lowpin up the lum.
Fluff! There he goes,
And there’s his brither;
And there’s anither and anither.
Migrant
Blythely to the brackie-bree
Trottit Geordie Toch;
Paidl’d in abüne the knee
And syne abüne the hoch.
Flappit like a willygoo
As he gaed plunkin doun:
And wha wud speer for Geordie noo
Maun try some ither toun.
The Fiddler
A fiddler gaed fiddling through our toun
Wi bells on his broo and sterns on his shoon;
And the dominie, wabster, souter and miller
Cam out wi’ gear and cam out wi’ siller.
Ho! Ho! laucht the fiddler as round him ran
The bairns o’ the gaberlunzie-man
Wha sang, as he heistit up his pack -
Tak tent o’ the hand that claws your back.
The fiddler he fiddl’d anither tune
As he can back hame through our toun:
And the dominie, wabster, souter and miller
A’ steekit their doors and climpit their siller.
Waes me! cried the fiddler as around him ran
The bairns o’ the gaberlunzie-man
Wha sang, as they heistit up his pack -
Tak tent o’ the hand that claws your back.
The Herryin o’ Jenny Wren
1. Jenny Wren’s wee eggs are awa;
Sic a t’dae and hullie-balloo:
She deav’d the mavie and the craw,
The laverock and the cushie-doo.
2. She toddl’d here, she toddl’d there;
She gar’d the cock craw at her biddin:
And a’ day, or his hawse gat sair,
He was her bell-man round the midden.
3. Then up and spak a clockin-hen:
“Hoo monie eggs are taen awa?”
“Last nicht I’d six,” sabbed Jenny Wren,
“And noo I hae nae mair than twa.”
4. “It’s lan sin I’ve been at the sküle
And little lare I hae and a’”;
“But,” quod the hen, “gin I’m nae füle
Fower o’ your eggs are taen awa.”
5. “O wha, wi’ mither wit, need fash
For onie mair,” cried Jenny Wren:
“Lat Solomon wauk up and clash
His claivers wi’ this clockin-hen.”
6. “Noo, by my troth, sin I’m a mither
I’ll name fower reavers,” said the hen:
“The whutterick’s ane, the tod’s anither,
The rottan, and auld Nickie-ben.”
7. Then Jenny Wren and a’ the birds
Gaed hotterin, owre knock and knowe,
Or had they come to jow their words
At ilka reaver’s hidie-howe.
8. The sleekit tod keek’t frae his house
And lowted round to ane and a’:
Then sware, as mim as onie mouse,
That he had taen nae eggs awa.
9. The rottan on his hint-legs stüde
And, liftin up twa watery e’en,
Ca’d doun strang curses on his bluid
Gin onie eggs he’d ever taen.
10. The whutterick, whan he saw the steer,
Lauch’t as he sklent alang his snout,
“Shüd I hae seen your eggs my dear,
I’d taen the hale half-dizzen out.”
11. Doun in a shog-bog Nickie-ben
Heard the loud chitter o’ the birds;
And lowpin on a fuggy stane
Said a’ his say in twa-three words:
12. “Gae hame, gae hame, wee Jenny Wren;
It’s no for me to name a cronie:
And ca’ in on yon clockin-hen
To speer gin twa frae twa leaves onie.”
The Merry Moment
No muckle in his head,
But gledness in his hert,
Habby stots alang the road
Ahint the waterin-cairt.
Bare legs abüne bare feet,
And breeks about his hoch;
Spurtlin up the sprenty weet
That gars him lowp and lauch.
Wha wudna gang this airt
And be a gallus lad –
On ahint a waterin-cairt
Alang the stourie road?
The Plum-Tree
Come out, come out;
Our plum-tree’s fou o’ fleurs
And the fleurs are at the fa’:
Come out, come out;
They’re flichterin doun in shoo’rs,
Like shoo’rs o’ snaw.
Gie me your haun
And round the tree we’ll gang
(Singin baloo-ba-la)
Afore the wind comes,
Lauchin owre our sang,
And blaws the fleurs awa.
Aince upon a Day
Aince upon a day my mither said to me:
Dinna cleip and dinna rype
And dinna tell a lee.
For gin ye cleip a craw will name ye,
And gin ye rype a daw will shame ye;
And a snail will heeze its hornies out
And hike them round and round about
Gin ye tell a lee.
Aince upon a day, as I walkit a' my lane,
I met a daw, and monie a craw,
And a snail upon a stane.
Up gaed the daw and didna shame me:
Up gaed ilk craw and didna name me:
But the wee snail heezed its hornies out
And hik'd them round and round about
And - - goggled at me.
Wabster
Fae out o’ a corner o’ the wa’
The wabster hings but winna fa’:
Syne rinnin up and rinnin doun;
Noo here, noo there, he’ll trock aroun’:
Fou süne he’ll set, baith snug and spruce,
The gavels o’ his wee bit house;
And cooried doun, far ben, he’ll spy
Gin onie flee gangs bumming by.
The Thistle
Blaw, wind, blaw
The thistle’s head awa:
For ilka head ye whup in the air
The yird will lift a hunner, or mair,
Doun in the lair o’ yon sheuch be the schaw.
Baukie
Noo that the mirk hings round the house
Come out and see the fleein-mouse:
Attowre the lum the wee, broun baest
Gangs lowpin, laichly as a ghaist.
Listen! he’s cheepin wi’ his mou:
Listen! I canna hear him noo.
Pastoral
Mawkin cockit up a lug
On the whinny law,
And listen’d to the farmer’s dug
Yowtin’ far awa.
Richt attowre the farm-toun
The simmer sün stüde still;
But aye the tyke gaed wowffin on
And wowf! cried the hill.
Whan I’m a Man
Whan I’m a man I’ll be a miller;
And wi’ a purlie-pig o’ siller,
And a muckle staff haud in my hand,
I’ll gang aff to the haly-land.
And, yonder, my ain sicht sall see
The auld Ark cockit up sae hee:
For weel I ken, though but a loon,
Nae man on earth cud tak it doun.
Bawsy Broon
Dinna gang out the nicht:
Dinna gang out the nicht:
Laich was the müne as I cam owre the muir;
Laich was the lauchin though nane was there:
Somebody nippit me,
Somebody trippit me;
Somebody grippit me roun’ and aroun’:
I ken it was Bawsy Broon:
I’m shair it was Bawsy Broon.
Dinna win out the nicht:
Dinna win out the nicht:
A rottan reeshl’d as I ran be the sike,
And the dead-bell dunnl’d owre the auld kirk-dyke:
Somebody nippit me,
Somebody trippit me;
Somebody grippit me roun’ and aroun’:
I ken it was Bawsy Broon:
I’m shair it was Bawsy Broon.
Münebrunt
Upon his hunkers sits the dug:
Scartin ae lug and noo the ither;
Syne cocks his e’e and glowers abune
Whaur leams the müne through caller weather.
Puir baest, puir baest, wha wudna yowl,
Wi liftit jowl and lowden’d lugs,
Gin he but thocht yon world o’ stanes
Was fou o’ banes for hungry dugs.
Winter’s Awa
Noo the snaw creeps frae the braes
And is gaen:
Noo the trees clap on their claes
Ane by ane:
Yonder owre the windy muir
Flees the craw;
And cries into the caller air,
Winter’s awa!
Craigie Knowes
Gin morning daw
I’ll hear the craw
On Craigie Knowes
Wauk up the sin:
Wauk up the sin
Wi’ caw on caw
Whan day comes in
On Craigie Knowes:
On Craigie Knowes
A’ round about
I’ll hear the craw
Or day be düne:
Or day be dune
And sterns come out,
And houlets hoot
On Craigie Knowes.
The Gowk
Ayont the linn; ayont the linn,
Whaur gowdan wags the gorse,
A gowk gaed cryin’: “Come ye in:
I’ve fairins in my purse.”
“My bield is o’ the diamond stane
Wi’ emerant atween:
My bonnie een are yours alane,
An’ rubies are my een.”
My faither brak a sauchy stick;
My mither wal’d a stane:
An’ weel I set it for a trick
Tae mak the gowk my ain.
The stane was set; the shot was shot;
The flichterin’ burd was fund:
But nocht aboot that lanely spot
O’ gowd or diamond.
It had nae siller for a croun;
Nae rubies for its een:
But a’ the crammasy ran doun
Whaur aince its breast had been.
I look’t; an’ there was nane tae see
The fairin I had taen:
I hung it on a roden-tree
An left it a’ alane.
The Vaunty Flee
“By cricky!” bizz’d a vaunty flee,
As he caper’d in a corner:
“Gin there’s a gleger spunk nor me
He maun be gey byor’nar.”
Wi’ that a wabster frae his den
Popp’t out, and nabb’d him fairly:
And snicher’d as he hail’d him ben:
“I’m gey byor’nar, shairly.”
The Twa Birds
“Wae’s me!” sech’t the mither stirrie:
“Wi’ they hungry bairns at hame
I hae a hantle o’ hurry
And but little lowsin-time:”
“And up yonder, like a lairdie,
Cockit on the spiry kirk,
Bides that weel-contented birdie
Wi’ nae worry and nae wark.”
A Penny to Spend
Dod has gotten his grip on a penny
An noo he winna stop
Or he’s owre the brae to Forgandenny
And Granny Panton’s shop.
The winnock’s gowpen-fou o’ ferlies,
Sae lickery for the lips;
Zulu-rock and curly-wurlies
And everlastin-stripes:
Sugary cocks and sugar hennies,
Blue-ba’s and marzipan mice:
Lod! Ye wud need a poke-fou o’ pennies
Tae mak the maist o’ this.
The Auld Cock
The auld cock wudna dee
Sae mither thraw’d the beast:
Strang was the leekie-bree
But stranger was the breast.
Satterday and Sunday
We hackit at our fare:
Back it cam on Monday
No muckle waur or wear.
My faither lowpit up
And cried: “Nae mair o’ that!”
Syne wi’ a whackin swipe
He ca’d it aff the plate.
Loud we lauch’t thegither
To see it stot and styte:
“Lod preserve us, mither,
The auld cock’s lifey yet!”
The Sark
“A braw day”: thocht the sark;
“A bonnie, braw day:
Come on wind and dae your wark,
I hinna lang to stay.”
“The burly sün is owre the ben,
The cockieleeries crow;
And I wud lowp on the washin-green:
Blaw, bluffert, blaw!”
The Holiday
Ablow the green cleuch o’ Kinnoull
Whan the tide slooms up the Tay,
Yon’s the airt for a rovin lad
Wha has a’ roads to gae:
A penny parley in his pouch,
And a chunk o’ bread and cheese:
The water bricht wi’ merrygowds
And the wind wi’ butterflees.
The Auld Man
A Bairn’s Sang
An auld man stands abüne the hill:
Crick-crack, crick-crack.
He’s unco comfie gin he’s stll:
Crick-crack creeshie.
But whan his airms flee round and round:
Crick-crack, crick-crack.
He deaves the clachan wi’ his sound:
Crick-crack creeshie.
His spauls jirg on like murlin stanes:
Crick-crack, crick-crack.
The weet has roustit a’ his banes:
Crick-crack creeshie.
The weet has roustit a’ his banes:
Crick-crack creeshie.
The Twa Craws
As twa craws hunker’d on an aik
Amang the wintry weather;
The ane speer’d, wi’ a cannie craik:
“D’ye hear what I hear, brither?”
“Far doun ablow this frostit tree
A worm is at the rit o’t:
And will it no be you and me
That nab what we can get o’t?”
They howk’t, and howk’t, wi’ a’ their micht
Or day began to wester:
They howk’t or they were out o’ sicht,
And aye they wrocht the faster.
They howk’t themsel’s into a swite,
And the gaucy müne cam gowking:
Nae dout, gin they’ve fund naething yet,
They haud on wi’ their howkin.
Wullie Waggletail
Wee Wullie Waggletail, what is a’ your stishie?
Tak a sowp o’ water and coorie on a stane:
Ilka tree stands dozent, and the wind without a hishie
Fitters in atween the fleurs and shogs them, ane be ane.
What whigmaleerie gars ye jowp and jink amang the duckies,
Wi’ a rowsan simmer sün beekin on your croun:
Wheeple, wheeple, wheeplin like a wee burn owre
the chuckies,
And wagglin here, and wagglin there, and wagglin up
and doun..
The Tattie-Bogle
The tattie-bogle wags his airms:
Caw! Caw! Caw!
He hasna onie banes or thairms:
Caw! Caw! Caw!
We corbies wha hae taken tent,
And wamphl’d round, and glower’d asklent,
Noo gang hame lauchin owre the bent:
Caw! Caw! Caw!
Day and Nicht
Like a flitterin fleur ye canna hear
The butterflee fluffers alang the air
Wi’ licht ablow him and licht abüne,
And the scarrow scougin ahint the stane.
But when the gloaming is gether’d attowre,
And the müne comes up wi’ a gawpus glower,
Out steers the clock sae bauld and burr
And breenges by wi’ a bummerin whurr.
Queen Sheba’s Sang
Wheesht, wheesht, my bairnie,
Sae waukrife hae ye been
That a’ the sterns are up and owre
The Mountains o’ the Müne.
Nane but the wind is wafferie;
A wee mouse in the wa’;
And the münebricht unicorns abüne
Wha skiff the siller snaw.
A Weet Day
Doun cam the hale-water
And out cam the drake,
Gether’d a’ his gagglin kimmers:
Quaik! Quaik! Quaik!
Furth frae the farm-toun
Alang the yirden straik,
Driddlin to the mill-hole:
Quaik! Quaik! Quaik!
Whaur’s your bonnie birdies noo
And a their clatter and claik?
Whaur’s your whistling billies noo?
Quaik! Quaik! Quaik!
Argie-Bargie
Said the mealie-puddin to the bluidy-puddin:
“I canna believe my e’en:
For I wud as lour hae a blackamoor
As hae you for my next-o’-kin.”
Said the bluidy - puddin to the mealie puddin:
“By heckie! There’s mair to tell:
For I wudna be glib to awn that my sib
Was a cauld parritch-poke like yoursel’.”
The Sea-Shell
Listen! for a lost world maunners here
Frae the cauld mou o’ a shell;
And sae far awa the blufferts blare
And the sea-birds skreel:
And the wail o’ women alang yon shore
Whaur the swaw comes rowin in;
And the swurly waters whummlin owre
The cry o’ the sailor-men.
The Wind
He’s lowse, he’s lowse, yon wowffin tyke
That yammers through the scudderin wüd;
Taks at a lowp baith burn and dyke,
And ranters on by onie road.
Sae waukrife whan the nicht comes in
He yowls up frae the vennel’d toun,
Whaur yon auld bauldrons far abüne
Wi’ glittery e’e is glaikin doun.
The Waefae Wee Lassie
Wae and willawackits,
Poussie’s in the burn:
Collie’s aff to bury a bane:
Robin owre the fields has gaen:
Wha am I to be alane
And a mousie in the kirn:
And a mousie in the kirn.
Day-Daw
Flappin abüne a palin-stob
In the grey and grumly licht
The cockieleerie gap’d his gob
And craw’d wi’ a’ his micht.
The sün keek’t out ahint the hill
Syne heistit owre the tap.
“Aye!” thocht the cockie to himsel’:
“It’s high time ye were up.”
Whigmaleerie
A puggie snaig’d aff wi’ the cripple man’s crutch
An’ a tod wi’ his chanticleerie.
A mousie loupt oot o’ his granminny’s mutch;
And the hoose gaed tapsalteerie.
Och hone, och hone, grat happity John
Or his een were blin an’ bleerit;
For a blusterin’ blaw heez’d the kail-pat awa
An’ his guidwife deid deleerit.
The Invitation
The sin ne’er fizzles I’ the sea
Gin there the sin dounfa’s:
Nae tangles straik the heukit müne
Whan saftly she updraws.
Haik on wi’ me attour yon hill,
Nor langer bide at hame,
Gin ye wud see the siller müne
Come dreepin’ fae the faem.
Gloria Mundi
Though a’ the hills were paper
And a’ the burns were ink;
Though a man wi’ the years o’ Ben Voirlich
Wrocht at the crambo-clink;
Getherin the world’s glory,
Aye there afore his e’en,
In the day-licht, and the grey-licht,
An the cannel-licht o’ the müne;
Lang, lang, or the makin were ended
His rowth o’ years were by;
And a’ the hills wud be midden-heaps,
And a’ the burns dry.
Execution time: 0.080 seconds