BAIRNRHYMES
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.
1930
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 0’ yon sheuch be the schaw.
1931
ROUN’ WI’ A THOUM
(A Hand Game)
Roun’ wi’ a thoum, an’ roun’ wi’ a thoum;
Here’s wee Wullie Wabster birlin’ at his loom:
Up comes his faither, an’ up comes his mither,
An’ up come the tinkler bairns loupin’ a’ thegither:
Routin’ an’ boutin’ an’ loutin’ ane an’ a’,
Or wee Wullie Wabster shoos them a’ awa.
1931
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.
1931
WULLIE WAGGLETAIL
Wee Wullie Waggletail, what is a’ your stishie?
Tak a sowp 0’ 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,
W1’ 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.
1932
CORBIE SANG
The merle in the hauch sings sweet,
The mavie on the hill:
But I mak merry at my meat
And craik to please mysel’.
The lcht maun low’r, the sang maun owre,
The grumlie nicht be lang:
Ye canna glowk afore ye howk
Sae lat your straik be strang.
O! bonnie is the simmer sün
And the flourish on the tree:
But the mauchies in a murlie bane
Are bonnier to me.
The wind maun blaw, the fleur maun fa’,
The grumlie nicht be lang:
Ye canna glowk afore ye howk
Sae lat your straik be strang.
1940
A PENNY TO SPEND
Dod has gottan his grip on a penny
And noo he winna stop
Or he’s owre the brae to Forgandenny
And Grannie 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 sugary hennies,
Blue-ba’s and marzipan mice:
Lod! ye wud need a poke-fou 0’ pennies
To mak the maist o’ this.
1941
THE DRUCKEN FUGGIE-TODDLER
The fuggie-toddler’s bummin-fou:
Bumbleleerie bum:
The fuggie-toddler’s bummin-fou
Wi’ swackin up the hinny-dew:
Bumbleleerie bum,
Bum, bum.
He styters here and styters there:
Bumbleleerie bum:
He styters here and styters there,
And canna styter onie mair:
Bumbleleerie bum,
Bum, bum.
And doun ablow a daisy-fleur:
Bumbleleerie bum:
And doun ablow a daisy-fleur
He havers owre and owre and owre:
Bumbleleerie bum,
Bum, bum.
1941
THE JEELY-BAP
Watty wi’ a jeely-bap,
Whan breengin frae the door,
Be a stane was trippit up
And sprattl’d in the stour.
Wha can dicht a jeely-piece
Or thole a thorter’d hunger?
Wha sae wally and sae wise
But kens a greetin anger?
Watty in a birse lowp’t up
As tousl’d as a tyke;
And wi’ a fling his bruckit bap
Gaed fleein owre the dyke.
1941
THE CUTTY
Up and doun the neep-dreels
Wha sae proud as Pow
Birlin his craw-rattle
And makin sic a row.
‘Weel-düne!’ yowp’t the farmer
At the end o’ the day;
‘A braw loon like yoursel’
Shud hae a plewman’s pey.
I hinna onie siller,
Nor yet the barmy-brew,
But here’s my auld cutty
And you'r the ane to pu’.’
Pow taen up the cutty
And luntit for a while:
Brunt his neb, and bleer’t his e’en,
And süne was unco droll.
Wi nappers in his noddie,
And whummles in his wame,
It was a gey puir laddie
Wha howdl’d awa hame.
1941
IN THE NICHT
Yon’s the queer hour whan a’ be yoursel’
Ye wauken in the mirk;
And far awa ye can hear the bell
Dinnle abüne the kirk.
Yon’s the queer hour whan the fittery clock
Comes knappin alang the wa’;
And your hert begins to knockity-knock,
And your breath canna ca’.
Yon’s the queer hour whan the murlin mouse
Charks on and is never düne;
And the wind is wheemerin round the house:
Lat me in, lat me in!
1941
BLAEBERRY MOU’
The flitterin faces come doun the brae
And the baskets gowd and green;
And nane but a blindie wud speer the day
Whaur a’ the bairns hae been.
The lift is blue, and the hills are blue,
And the lochan in atween;
But nane sae blue as the blaeberry mow’
That needna tell whaur it’s been.
1941
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 0’ women alang yon shore
Whaur the swaw comes rowin in:
And the swurly waters whummlin owre
The cry o’ the sailor-men.
1941
THE TRAP
The auld mouse lauch’t at the mousie-trap,
And the young mouse lauch’t at the auld ane;
For he thocht himsel’ a birky chap
And a maist byordinar bauld ane.
They dodderin bodies were a’ sae douce,
And aye sae gab-fou 0’ güde-guidance:
But wha wi’ the smeddum o’ a louse
Wud tak muckle tent o’ their biddins?
Here was the nocket a’ ready to nick,
And here was his neb richt forenent 0’t:
Pop! gaed the mousie, and pop! gaed the sneck—
And the puir smout was dead or he kent 0't.
1941
SANG
Hairst the licht o’ the müne
To mak a siller goun;
And the gowdan licht o’ the stin
To mak a pair o’ shoon:
Gether the draps o’ dew
To hing about your throat;
And the wab o’ the watergaw
To wark yoursel’ a coat:
And you will ride oniewhaur
Upon the back o’ the wind;
And gang through the open door
In the wa’ at the world’s end.
1942
56 POEMS IN SCOTS
PUDDLE-DOO
Puddle-doo the puddock
Gat up ae simmer morn,
And he wud be a hunter
But hadna onie horn.
He taen awa the bummer
Frae aft a bummle-bee;
And thocht: ‘It’s no a bugle
But it’s guid eneuch for me.’
Puddle-doo the hunter
For want o’ onie whup
Sneckit aff a mousie’s tail
And taen it in his grup.
Crack! gaed the mousie’s tail,
And Puddle was richt proud:
‘Noo, a’ I need’s a naigie
And I’m ready for the road.’
But Puddle fund nae naigie
Though he socht baith howe and hill:
Sae he bumml’d on his bummer
And whuppit up himsel’.
1942
BAIRNRHYMES 57
DAY IS DUNE
Lully, lully, my ain wee dearie:
Lully, lully, my ain wee doo:
Sae far awa and peerieweerie
Is the hurlie o’ the world noo.
And a’ the noddin pows are weary;
And a’ the fitterin feet come in:
Lully, lully, my ain wee dearie,
The darg is owre and the day is düne.
1942
THE BRIG
Amang the skinklin stanners
In the cannie simmer days
Our brig wides through the rinnles
That lapper owre his taes:
But whan the weet winds bluster,
And tattery are the trees,
He warsles in roch water
That gurls abüne his knees.
1942
58 POEMS IN SCOTS
TRADITION
‘Heh! young folk arena what they were:’
Wheeng’d the auld craw to his cronie:
‘Sic galivantin here and there,
Sic wastrie and aye wantin mair;
Their menners far frae bonnie.
‘Eh me! it’s waur and waur they get
In gumption and decorum:
And sma’ respec’ for kirk or state.’
Wi’ that the auld craw wagg’d his pate As his faither did afore him.
1943
DREEPIN WEATHER
Out stapp’t the ae duck;
Out stapp’t anither;
Out stappit a’ the ducks
To tak the dreepin weather.
Diddle-doddl’d through the dubs
Flappin wi’ their feet:
O! the bonnie gutter-holes
And the weet, weet, weet!
1943
BAIRNRHYMES
THE THREE GANDERS
Three gaucy ganders,
Quickum, Quaickum, Quack,
Wabbl’'d owre a green field
And syne wabbl’d back.
Quickum fund a bum-clock;
Quaickum fund a black:
But nae mair nor naething
Had been fund be Quack.
‘Heh-ho!’ said Quickum:
‘It’s been a braw walk.’
‘A braw walk,’ said Quaickum,
But nae word said Quack.
1943
THE CRONIES
The first craw was skeerie;
The second was leerie;
The third had nae wits ava:
And shüther to shüther
They sat through a’ weather
Up in the birkenschaw.
Aye at the day-dawin
The three craws sat crawin
And flapp’t in the leesome licht:
Aye at the day-mirkin
They stüde be their birken
And boo’d to left and to richt.
1943
59
RIDDLES
The answers are printed at the foot of page 62
]
My head is in the hicht:
Hills are atween my feet:
My faither is the licht:
My mither is the weet.
1935
Z
Spindle-shank gangs owre the flair
Wi his ae leg in the air:
Shaks his pow outside the door
Whan his hair is fou 9’ stour.
1935
3
A’ about and a’ abüne;
Clear eneuch afore the e’en;
Cauld eneuch upon the skin:
Yet wi’ hands ye canna grip it;
And wi’ shears ye canna snip it;
And wl’ raips ye canna wip it.
1935
4:
I am ae thing:
I am nae thing:
Baith a big and sma’ thing;
And belang to a’ thing.
1936
60
RIDDLES
5
Lizzie wi’ the lowin’ locks,
Sae jimpy and sae neat,
Whan the nicht comes owre the knocks
Aye begins to greet:
Aye begins to greet sae sair,
Whan it’s nicht-at-eenie,
For-a-be her bonnie hair
And her snaw-white peenie.
1936
6
I gat it on a buskie brae
And gledly wud hae tin’d it;
But had to bring it hame wi’ me
Because I cudna find it.
1936
7
Spinnel is a droll bird
Wha stands on his head,
And speaks never a word
Though words are his trade.
Up on his neb he’ll gae;
Back and fore he’ll steer;
Say what he disna say;
And lat the deaf hear.
1941
8
Whan the day is fair and fine,
And ye hae sicht to see,
It tells ye what ye want to ken,
And winna tell a lee.
61
62 POEMS IN SCOTS
But in dowf and drubblie days
Or in the drumlie nicht
Ye needna come to be made wise,
Nor bring your cannel-licht.
194]
g
Although it rins
It canna walk:
Although it twines
It canna gae back:
Although it fa’s
It canna brek:
Although it ca’s
It canna speak.
1941
10
O! weel ye ken yon muckle house
That is sae heich abüne;
Whaur at the mirkin monie a mouse
Keeks out wi’ glinty e’en.
And weel ye ken yon muckle cat
Wha canniely creeps in:
And aften she is unco fat,
And aften unco thin.
1942
ANSWERS TO RIDDLES
1 A rainbow 2 A broom 3 Fog 4. A shadow
5 A candle 6 A thorn 7 A pen or pencil 8 A sundial
9 A stream 10 The night sky
WHAIGMALEERIES
THE WOOD
(4 Japanese Legend)
A gangrel socht a shady schaw;
And whan he spang’d the syke
He fund a wee bairn sabbin sair
Ahint a divot-dyke.
“Wheesht, wheesht, my dawtie, dinna fret; What gars ye greet your lane?’
Three times he spak the cannie word
Or she stintit frae her maen.
She look’t, she laucht, she brocht her hand
Lichtly attour her e’en;
And left the bareness o’ a broo
Whaur her fleerin face had been.
In fudderin fear the gangrel gaed
Wuldly into the wüd;
Or he cam on a fleury place
Whaur an auld kimmer stüde.
‘Puir man, puir man!’ the auld wife cried:
“What gars ye gove sae sair?’
‘O! I hae seen a weirdly bairn.. ..’ But the gangrel spak nae mair.
Three times he socht to tell his tale:
Three times nae word was his:
Syne canniely the auld wife speer’d: ‘Was it oniething like this?’
63
64: POEMS IN SCOTS
She look’t, she laucht, she brocht her hand
Lichtly attour her e’en;
And left the bareness o’ a broo
Whaur her fleerin face had been.
1937
HERRY-THE-WIND
Herry-the-wind has a murlin mou:
Herry-the-wind gars a’body grue:
Charks at stane; and channers at bane;
Aye gethers in—and is never fou.
To slochen his drouth he basks a burn;
But the brackie bree will dae his turn:
Maks a mock o’ rackle and lock;
And runches rock whan he staws at airn.
Herry-the-wind is denty enow:
Cockers his wime wi’ the thrissel-tow:
Blebs the bee; and frammles the flee;
And gowps the e’e frae the gollacher’s pow.
1937
AE NICHY AT AMULREE
Whan Little Dunnin’ was a spree,
And no a name as noo,
Wull Todd wha wrocht at Amulree
Gaed hame byordinar fou.
The hairst had a’ been gether’d in:
The nicht was snell but clear:
And owre the cantle o’ the müne
God keekit here and there.
WHIGMALEERIES
Whan God saw Wull he gien a lauch
And drappit lichtly doun;
Syne stüde ahint a frostit sauch
Or Wull cam styterin on.
Straucht oot He breeng’d, and blared: “Wull Todd!’
Blythe as Saint Johnstoun’s bell:
‘My God!’ gowp’d Wull: ‘Ye’r richt,’ says God:
‘l’m gled to meet yersel.’
1937
A WHIGMALEERIE
There was an Auchtergaven mouse
(I canna mind his name)
Wha met in wi’ a hirplin louse
Sair trauchl’d for her hame.
‘My friend, I’m hippit; and nae doot
Ye’ll heist me on my wey.’
The mouse but squinted doun his snoot
And wi’ a breenge was by.
Or lang he cam to his ain door
Doun be a condie-hole;
And thocht, as he was stappin owre:
Vermin are ill to thole.
1937
SAINT DOD
Whan Dod Sprunt dee’d at Whinniemuir
(A guid man a’ his days)
They kisted him, he was sae puir,
In his auld workin’-claes.
66 POEMS IN SCOTS
He gaed abüne; but had sma’ thocht
That noo he was a saint:
Afore him flew an orient flaucht
And harpists cam ahint.
Süne he was whitter’d up to God
Wha crapp’t him wi’ a croun:
And cried: ‘You’r welcome here, Saint Dod;
Saft be your sittin’-doun.
Gin ye are fain for onie fairin’
As fain am I to gie:
Saint Cuthbert and Saint Kentigern
Are no mair dear to me.’
Dod kent fou weel there was ae boon
He’d lang’d for monie a year;
But fitter’d wi’ his snaw-white goun
And was owre Dlate to speer:
‘Speak oot,’ said God: ‘and lat’s hae düne—
There’s nae bane-pikin here.’
Wi’ that Dod hecht, and haisk’t, and hocht
Or he was in a steuch;
But syne he kyth’d his benmaist thocht
And it was douce eneuch.
‘Dear Lord! 0’ heaven and the yird,
Gie me, forenent this croun,
A cockit-bonnet like oor laird
Whan he trots to the toun.’
Sae a’ you fowk, wha tak the road
That speels awa up there,
Hae a bit corrieneuch wi’ Dod—
Ye’ll ken him be his gear.
1938
WHIGMALEERIES 67
ORPHEUS
The orra-man rous’d up his lulls
Ootby the farm-toun
And brocht baith cannie baes and bulls
Bowtin and bullerin roun’.
Frae field and fell wi’ fudderin flap
Flew corbies, craiks, and craws;
And hullerie on the midden-tap
The cock hecht up his hawse.
Puddocks and taeds frae syke and stank
Hochl’d ahint the thrang;
And yarkin worms wi’ a yank
Oot o’ the yirth upflang.
But whan a neep wi’ ruggity rit
Cam stotterin through the stour,
The farmer yowtit frae his yett:
‘I doot ye’ll hae t’ gie owre.’
1939
KRING WORM
What care I for kirk or state?
What care I for war’s alarm?
A’ are beggars at my yett:
Iam King Worm.
Aye a getherin girst I get;
A lippen hairst at time o’ hairm:
Want and wastrey mak me fat:
Iam King Worm.
68 POEMS IN SCOTS
The hale world is my heapit plate,
And death the flunkey at my airm:
Wha sae merry owre his meat?
Iam King Worm.
1941
THE PHILOSOPHIC TAED
There was a taed wha thocht sae lang
On sanctity and sin;
On what was richt, and what was wrang,
And what was in atween—
That he gat naething düne.
The wind micht blaw, the snaw micht snaw,
He didna mind a wheet;
Nor kent the derk’nin frae the daw,
The wulfire frae the weet:
Nor fuggage frae his feet.
His wife and weans frae time to time,
As they gaed by the cratur,
Wud haut to hae a gowk at him
And shak their pows, or natter:
‘He’s no like growin better.’
It maun be twenty year or mair
Sin thocht’s been a’ his trade:
And naebody can tell for shair
Whether this unco taed
Is dead, or thinks he’s dead.
1941
DAFT SANG
Whan doors are steek’t, and a’ are hame,
It’s then I pu’ my bauchles on:
Whan folk are beddit wi’ their dream
The hale world is my causey-croun.
The hale world is my causey-croun;
The hackit heuch my steppie-stair:
I whistle and the wind comes doun;:
And on the wind I gang oniewhaur.
And on the wind I gang oniewhaur,
But nane will ken what I hae seen:
For the world ends—and it isna far;
But nane will ken whaur I hae been.
But nane will ken whaur I hae been
Atween the glimmer and the grey;
Nor hear the clapper o’ the müne
Ding up the nicht, ding doun the day.
1941
BALM
Teeny Dott o’ Madderty
Was streekit in her kist
Wi’ a pickle aipple-ringie
Preen’d on her breist.
It aye had been her comfort
At preachin and at prayer:
And she wudna be in want o’t
Awa up there.
1941
LOCAL HABILITATION
Wull Cordiner sware on the knowe o’ Moncrieff
As he gowkit eastland and westland
That in a’ the world and a bittock o’ Fife
His ain land be far was the best land.
And awa to the south were the Fargie Fells
And a glint o’ the caller fountains:
And awa to the north were the howie hills
And ahint them the Grampian Mountains.
1941
TAM TIDDLER
Maist o’ things hae their season
And arena aye at hame:
Maist o’ things wax and wizzen
And winna bide the same.
The fiddle and the fiddler
Canna be aye jocose:
But hae ye met Tam Tiddler,
And hae ye seen his nose?
There isna onie simmer
That winter winna blae:
There isna onie kimmer
Wha’s roses dinna grey.
The fiddle and the fiddler
Canna be aye jocose:
But hae ye met Tam Tiddler,
And hae ye seen his nose?
1941]
WHIGMALEERIES
THE BRISK WORLD BIRLS ABOUT
The mouse in the manse was fat:
The mouse in the kirk was thin:
The mouse in the manse was killed be the cat
For he lived a life o’ sin.
O! the brisk world birls about
Through the guid days and the ill;
And for want o’ a crust the haly smout
Was whuppit awa as weel.
1942
THE VISITATION
Cromwell was a sodger:
Cromwell was a saint:
Cromwell cam to Scotland
To mak himsel’ acquaint.
He rumml’d up his cannon
Afore St. John’s Toun:
Wowf! roar’d the cannon
And the wa’s fell doun.
A randy frae the Speygate
Yowl’d: ‘Haud on, ye füle!’
‘Auld wife, auld wife:’ craw’d Cromwell:
‘I maun dae the Lord’s will.’
1942
71
(2 POEMS IN SCOTS
FRANCISCAN EPISODE
Francis, wha thocht the gospel-words
Guid-news for ilka body,
Aince preach’d a sermon to the birds
And catechis’d a cuddie.
He was the haliest saint 0’ a’
Be grace and be affliction;
And kent God’s craturs, great or sma’,
Were ane in their election.
But ae day, whan he was fell thrang
Confabbin wi’ a gander,
A course gleg stug him sic a stang
As fair rous’d up his dander.
‘Be aff!’ yapp’t Francis wi’ a yowt,
“To Beelzebub your maister:’
And gied the gutsy beast a clowt
To gar it gang the faster.
194:2
HAL O° THE WYND
Hal 0’ the Wynd he taen the field
Alang be the skinklin Tay:
And he hackit doun the men o’ Chattan:
Or was it the men o’ hay?
Whan a’ was owre he dichted his blade
And steppit awa richt douce
To draik his drouth in the Skinners’ Vennel
At clapperin Clemmy’s house.
WHIGMALEERIES
Hal o’ the Wynd had monie a bairn;
And bairns’ bairns galore
Wha wud speer about the bluidy battle
And what it was fochten for.
‘Guid-faith! my dawties, I never kent;
But yon was a dirlin day
Whan I hackit doun the men o’ Chattan;
Or was it the men o’ Kay?’
1943
EPITAPH
They delv’d a saft hole
For Johnnie McNeel:
He aye had been droll
But folk likit him weel.
The bell gied a toll;
And Mess John in his goun
Spak guid-words for the soul
As Johnnie gaed doun.
On a wee, mossy-knoll,
That’s green a’ the year,
A stane-letter’d scroll
Tells Johnnie liggs there.
Nae lang rigmarole;
Juist—Johnnie McNeel
Was aye a bit droll
But folk likit him weel.
1943
73
POEMS AND LYRICS
COCK-CROW
Fu’ heich upon the midden-cairn
It is his cronie chanticleer
Wha blaws the bugill o’ the bairn
To lat the hale world ken he’s here,
Liggan sae comfy wi’ the kye
And a muckle eerie licht outby.
He’s wauken’d up the ox and craw;
He’s gar’d the corbie blink an e’e:
The cuddie peers attour his sta’;
And yowes ca’ frae the hirsty lea:
Ayont the bairn atween her breists
Gaes up the hamely breath o’ beasts.
The cannel-licht steers on the stane
And round him are the couthie kye;
But wha sall ken whaur he has gaen
Afore anither nicht be bye:
Sae saftly maun the cuddie ca’
On thru the mirk and far awa.
1925, revised later
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.
74
POEMS AND LYRICS 75
My bield is 0’ the diamond stane
Wi emerant atween:
My bonnie een are yours alane,
An’ rubles are my een.’
My faither brak a sauchy stick;
My mither wal’d a stane:
An’ weel I set it for the 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
OQ’ gowd or diamond.
It had nae siller for a croun;
Nae rubies for its een:
But a’ the crammasy ran doun
Whaur aince its breist had been.
I look’t; an’ there was nane tae see
The fairin I had taen:
J hung it on a roden-tree
An’ left it a’ alane.
1928
THE BAIRN
The winter’s awa; and yonder’s the spring
Comin’ owre the green braes:
And I canna but greet, while a’ the birds sing,
I canna but greet;
For it micht hae been you, wi’ your sma’, lauchin’ face,
Comin’ in frae the weet.
193]
76 POEMS IN SCOTS
JAMIE
Yonder is the knowe; and whan thistles are upon it
Auld Jamie stands there wi’ fleurs for a bonnet.
Jamie has a cronie; Jamie has three—
The laverock, the corbie, and the sma’ hinny-bee.
The laverock trocks wi’ heaven, the corbie wi’ hell;
The hinny-bee flees on atween and disna fash itsel’.
Jamie whistled at the plew; Jamie won his queyn;
Jamie was a strappan lad—but that was lang-syne.
1931
THE TRYST
O luely, luely cam she in
And luely she lay doun:
I kent her be her caller lips
And her breists sae sma’ and roun’,
A’ thru the nicht we spak nae word
Nor sinder’d bane frae bane:
A’ thru the nicht I heard her hert
Gang soundin’ wi’ my ain.
It was about the waukrife hour
Whan cocks begin to craw
That she smool’d saftly thru the mirk
Afore the day wud daw.
Sae luely, luely, cam she in
Sae luely was she gaen
And wi’ her a’ my simmer days
Like they had never been.
1932
POEMS AND LYRICS
THE WHALE
]
As I walk’t by the Firth o’ Forth,
Sae lately in the nicht,
There was nae man stude at my side
Tae name yon antrin sicht.
2
Oot o’ the midmaist deep it rax’t
Whan saftly low’d the müne;
An’ it was braid, an’ unco lang,
An’ the sea cam rowin’ in.
3
Afore its breist the waters brak
As roond a wa’ o’ rocks:
Its broos were birslin i’ the air
Abüne the weather-cocks.
4
An’, as a fountain, frae its heid
Gaed up a waterspoot
Like it wud loup attour the müne
An’ draik the sma sternes oot.
5
It cam straucht on wi’ muckle mou
Wide gaunted like a pit;
An’ the strang souffin’ o’ its braith
Sookit me intill it.
6
The whummlin’ flood gaed ower my croun;
An’ wi a thunner-crack
The braid portcullis 0’ its chouks
Cam doun ahint my back.
vey
718 POEMS IN SCOTS
7
Ben in the bodie o’ the baest
It was nor day nor nicht,
For a’ the condies o’ its bluid
Low’d wi’ a laich, reid licht.
8
I daunner’d here, I daunner’d there,
Thru vennel, wynd, an’ pen’;
An’ aye the licht was roond aboot
An’ aye I daunner’d ben.
9
I walkit on the lee-lang day,
I micht hae walkit twa,
Whan, a’ at aince, I steppit oot
Intae a guidly schaw.
10
Ane eftir ane stude ferny trees,
Purple an’ gowd an’ green;
An’ as the wrak o’ watergaws
The fleurs fraith’d up atween.
1]
I wud hae minded nocht ava
O’ the ferlie I was in
But aye the engine o’ its hairt
Gaed stoundin far abüne;
An’ whan it gien an’ unco stert
The licht loup’t in my een.
12
Lang, lang, I gowkit thru the trees
Nor livin thing saw I,
Tull wv’ a soundless fling o’ feet
Unyirdly baes breez’d by.
POEMS AND LYRICS
13
They flisk’t an’ flung’d an’ flirn’d aboot
An’ fluther’d roond an’ roond,
But nae leaf liftit on the tree
An’ nae fit made a sound.
14
An’ some had heids 0’ stags an’ bulls,
An’ breists 0’ serpent scales:
An’ some had eagles’ wings an’ een,
An’ some had dragons’ tails.
Lb
An’ ilka baest was gowd, or green,
Or purple like the wud,
But ae strang-bodied unicorn
That was as reid as bluid.
16
Then was I minded o’ a tale
That I had lang forgat;
Hoo, that afore auld Noah’s ark
Hunker’d on Ararat,
LT
A muckle ferlie o’ the deep,
That had come up tae blaw,
Gowpit abüne the shoglin’ boat
An’ haik’t some baes awa.
18
Here, sin the daith o’ the auld world,
They dwalt like things unborn;
An’ I was wae for my ain land
Twin'd o’ its unicorn.
(es,
80 POEMS IN SCOTS
19
I stude like ane that has nae pou’r
An’ yet, within a crack,
My hauns were on the unicorn
An’ my bodie owre its back.
20
Wi’ ae loup it had skail’d the wud,
An’ wi’ anither ane
"Twas skelpin’ doun the gait I’d cam
Thru vennel, wynd an’ pen’.
Z1
Süne was I waur that I cud sense
The soundin’ o’ the sea;
An’ that the licht 0’ my ain world
Cam round me cannily.
D2
On, an’ aye on, thru whistlin wind
We flang in fuddert flicht;
An’ louder was the waft o’ waves,
An’ lichter was the licht.
23
Owre ilka sound I hear the stound
O’ the loupin’ waterspoot,
An’ as it loupt the sea-baest gowp’t
An’ the unicorn sprang oot:
Aye, straucht atween the sinderin’ chouks
The unicorn sprang oot.
24:
It steppit thru the siller air,
For day was at the daw;
An’ what had been a bluid-reid baest
Was noo a baest o’ snaw.
POEMS AND LYRICS
95
Or lang, my fit was by the Forth
Whaur I had stude afore;
But the unicorn gaed his ain gait
An’ as he snoov’d owre Arthur’s Sate
I heard the lion roar.
1932
THE GOWR
Half doun the hill, whaur fa’s the linn
Far frae the flaught o’ fowk,
I saw upon a lanely whin
A lanely singin’ gowk:
Cuckoo, cuckoo;
And at my back
The howie hill stüde up and spak:
Cuckoo, cuckoo.
There was nae soun’: the loupin’ linn
Hung frostit in its fa’:
Nae bird was on the lanely whin
Sae white wi’ fleurs 0’ snaw:
Cuckoo, cuckoo;
I sttide stane still;
And saftly spak the howie hill:
Cuckoo, cuckoo.
1932
8 |
POEMS IN SCOTS
YESTERDAY
I’m auld eneuch noo
To be the faither 0’ yon deid bairn
That was me.
It was the sicht o’ the wild-rose
That minded me 0’t.
Monie a simmer’s day, whan it was owre hot
To breenge eftir a butterflee
Or rin wi a gird,
I ligg’d at the brae-fit and heard
The bee’s and the burn’s sang;
And the gowk croodlin’ fae the wüds abüne.
And as I gaed hame
I’d pou the sma’, wild roses
And fling them awa, or lang;
They were deid sae süne.
1932
AT TIBBERMUIR
There was a wren o’ JTibbermuir
Sae waukrife in the simmer daw
That she gat on a palin’ stob
Afore the cock wud craw.
She breisted like a puddy-doo;
She tirl’d upon her tipper-taes;
And, in a whup, her whirlywas
Breel’d owre the caller braes.
Up steer’d the cock and gien a craw:
Up steer’d the coo and gien a croun:
Up steer’d the sin—and there was a’
The bricht world birlin’ roun’.
1933
POEMS AND LYRICS
BIRTHDAY
There were three men o’ Scotland
Wha rade intill the nicht
W1 nae müne lifted owre their crouns
Nor onie stern for licht:
Nane but the herryin’ houlet,
The broun mouse, and the taed,
Kent whan their horses clapper’d by
And whatna road they rade.
Nae man spak to his brither,
Nor ruggit at the rein;
But drave straucht on owre burn and brae
Or half the nicht was gaen.
Nae man spak to his brither,
Nor lat his hand draw in;
But drave straucht on owre ford and fell
Or nicht was nearly düne.
There cam a flaucht o’ levin
That brocht nae thunner ca’
But left ahint a lanely lowe
That wudna gang awa.
And richt afore the horsemen,
Whaur grumly nicht had been,
Stüde a’ the Grampian Mountains
Wi’ the dark howes atween.
Up craigie cleuch and corrie
They rade wi’ stany soun’,
And saftly thru the lichted mirk
The switherin’ snaw cam doun.
83
84 POEMS IN SCOTS
They gaed by birk and rowan,
They gaed by pine and fir;
Aye on they gaed or nocht but snaw
And the roch whin was there.
Nae man brac’d back the bridle
Yet ilka fit stüde still
As thru the flichterin’ floichan-drift
A beast cam doun the hill.
It steppit like a stallion,
Wha’s heid hauds up a horn,
And weel the men o’ Scotland kent
It was the unicorn.
It steppit like a stallion,
Snaw-white and siller-bricht,
And on its back there was a bairn
Wha low’d in his ain licht.
And baith gaed by richt glegly
As day was at the daw;
And glisterin’ owre hicht and howe
They saftly smool’d awa.
Nae man but socht his brither
And look’t him in the e’en,
And sware that he wud gang a’ gates
To cry what he had seen.
There were three men o’ Scotland
A’ frazit and forforn;
But on the Grampian Mountains
They saw the unicorn.
1933
POEMS AND LYRICS
THE HURDY-GURDY MAN
The hurdy-gurdy man gangs by
And dings a sang on the stany air;
The weather-cocks begin to craw,
Flap their feathers, and flee awa;
Houses fa’ sindry wi’ the soun’
The hale o’ the city is murlin’ doun.
Come out! come out! wha wudna steer
(Nane but the deid cud bide alane )
The habbie-horses reenge in a ring
Birlin’ roun’ wi’ a wudden fling
Whaur the grass fleurs frae the causey-stane:
And cantl’d asclent the blue o’ space,
Far abüne a’ the soundin’ fair, A swing gaes up into the licht
And I see your face wi’ yon look, aye there,
That swither’d atween joy and fricht.
1934
EVENING STAR
Lift up your e’en and greet nae mair,
The black trees on the brae are still;
And lichtsome, in the mirkl’d air,
A star gangs glaidly owre the hill.
Sae far awa fae worldly soun’
In laneliness it glimmers by;
And the cauld licht comes kindly doun
On earth and a’ her misery.
1935
85
86 POEMS IN SCOTS
SONG
Whaur yon broken brig hings owre
Whaur yon water maks nae soun’;
Babylon blaws by in stour:
Gang doun wi’ a sang, gang doun.
Deep, owre deep, for onie drouth:
Wan eneuch an ye wud droun:
Saut, or seelfu’, for the mouth;
Gang doun wi’ a sang, gang doun.
Babylon blaws by in stour
Whaur yon water maks nae soun’:
Darkness is your only door;
Gang doun wi’ a sang, gang doun.
CONSOLATION
Saftly about her darg she gaed
Nor thocht o’ richt or wrang;
Sae nesh the body on the bed
Like it wud wauk or lang.
A neebour woman cam in-by
Whan day was nearly düne;
She spak nae word o’ misery
Nor look’d wi’ troubl’d e’en.
She bade or mirkl’d was the west
And the müne was lifted owre;
Syne laid a hand on the ither’s breist
And gaed ayont the door.
«
>
1935
1936
POEMS AND LYRICS 87
THE CARPENTER
Here is auld news o’ life and death
No muckle waur o’ wear:
There was a man in Nazareth
Wha was a carpenter.
Glaidly he dress’d the rochest dale
To mak a kist or door:
Strauchtly he drave the langest nail
Wi little sturt or stour.
Monie a man as he gaed by,
And monie a kintra wench,
Wud watch the strang and souple hands
That wrocht abüne the bench:
And aye sae true, sae tenderly,
Sae trysted, wud they move
As they had been a lover’s hands
That blindly kent their love. 1937
THE THOCHT
Young Janie was a strappan lass
Wha deed in jizzen-bed;
And monie a thocht her lover thocht
Lang eftir she was dead:
But aye, wi’ a’ he brocht to mind
O’ misery and wrang,
There was a gledness gether’d in
Like the owrecome 0’ a sang:
And, gin the deid are naethingness
Or they be minded on,
As hinny to a hungry ghaist
Maun be a thocht like yon. 1937
88 POEMS IN SCOTS
WINTRY MOMENT
Dark the tree stüde
In the snell air:
A rickle o’ wüd
Scrunted and bare.
D’ye ken yon hour
(As lane and black )
Whan the hert is dour
And the bluid is brack:
Whan the breist’s a door
Shut to the licht:
D’ye ken yon hour
In your ain nicht?
And syne the flird
That cud gar ye greet:
The glisk o’ a bird;
A bairn in the weet:
And the livenin’ bluid
Gethers its poo’r,
As the sterk wüd
Whan winter’s owre.
1938
POEMS AND LYRICS 89
PAILLH
Look up; and yonder on the brae, Like a sang in silence born, Wi the dayspring o’ the day Walks the snaw-white unicorn.
Sae far awa he leams in licht: And yet his glitter burns atween The darkness hung ahint the hicht And hidden in the lifted e’en.
Look doun and doun; frae ilka airt
The flutherin worlds through darkness fa’: But yon bricht beast walks, in the hert,
Sae far awa; sae far awa.
1938
NAE NICHT SAE BLACK
Nae nicht sae black comes owre frae the east
As the nicht that can gether ahint the breist
Whan the hands are herried o’ a’ they can dae;
And the hert that wud speak has nae word to say.
Whan the sicht is blinded that was sae shair:
Whan the sang in the bluid is heard nae mair:
Whan the cauld licht chitterin far awa ben Is a glimmer that maks the mirk mair plain.
Nae sound wanders in frae the world’s waste:
Nae sound as the water o’ life slooms past:
And the thocht o’ thocht is a reeshlin segg
Whaur the wey gangs oot owre a broken brig.
1939
90 POEMS IN SCOTS
WINTRY SONG
Frae the smoor’d hill nae voices fa’:
The lipperin linn hings on the air:
The burn is brank’t; the birds awa;
And the trees bare.
The gowk that flirded on the brae
Cries blythly frae a fremmit wüd:
Wha hears; and in the gledsome day
Kens he is gled?
Mebbe ye walk in yon clear airt
And hae nae mind o’ griefs owrepast:
The thocht is halesome for a hert
That feels the frost.
1939
SILENCE
The hert may be sae rowth wi’ sang
It has nae need to sing;
The e’en sae lichtit as owregang
The sicht 0’ oniething:
Like ane wha in a carefree hour
Frae Saturn micht look furth
Wi’ nocht but brichtness reemlin owre
Atween him and the earth:
A’ the roch rammage o’ the world
Dwin’'d to a dinnlin bell:
A’ the dark warsle o’ the world
Ingether’d and stane-still.
1939
POEMS AND LYRICS 9]
WAS THE HERT MAIR KIND?
Whan we strade up the Ordie Braes
Owre heathery howe and hicht,
Were the days clearer in yon days
Or was the hert mair licht?
And whan at gloamin we cam doun
And walkit through the hamely wynd,
Were couthier folk in yon toun
Or was the hert mair kind?
1942
THE QUIET
Ayont the Caller Fountain,
Whan gowks were in the schaw,
We gether’d the wild roses
That were sae white and sma’:
And kent they süne wud fa’.
We gether’d the wild roses,
And heard on yon hillside
The burn rin to the water
That was baith deep and wide,
And taen it to the tide.
Whaur are the merry faces;
The herts that aince were dear?
Listen! there is a quiet
Steady ablow a’ steer:
The sang we didna hear.
1942
92 POEMS IN SCOTS
EXTREMITY
Monie a dird the flesh maun tak,
And faith tak monie a fa’;
For it’s lang afore the hert will brak,
And lang or it wear awa.
But wha wi’ tortor in his breist,
And misery in his mind,
Hasna cried out to earth for rest
And kent that death is kind?
1942
THE GRIEF THAT GANGS FAR BEN
Whan we’re nae langer pin’d
Be gledness that has gaen:
And sairest stounds hae dwin’d
Frae the dourest dird taen:
Whan we hae sma’ regret
For a’ that we hae tin’d,
There is a sadness yet
Bides waukrife in the mind:
A shame that gaed far in
And canna be untwin’d:
Cauld comfort said or düne
That micht hae been sae kind.
1942
POEMS AND LYRICS 93
THE MAhAR
Nae man wha loves the lawland tongue
But warsles wi’ the thocht—
There are mair sangs that bide unsung Nor a’ that hae been wrocht.
Ablow the wastrey o’ the years,
The thorter 0’ himsel’,
Deep buried in his bluid he hears
A music that is leal.
And wi’ this lealness gangs his ain;
And there’s nae ither gait Though a’ his feres were fremmit men
Wha cry: Owre late, owre late.
1O2Z
FOR EPITAPH
I’ll mind ye in a sang
That has nae fear o’ winter and its fret:
For stanes, although their memories are lang,
Grow auld, and wi’ auld age forget.
I’ll mind ye in a sang That has nae care o’ the windy wilderness
Whaur steepl’d touns and wa’s that were sae strang
Are siftins among benty grass.
1942
94: POEMS IN SCOTS
THE QUIET COMES IN
Whan the rage is by
The bluid grows still:
Whan the tears are dry
The bairn sleeps weel.
Whan the roch winds low’r
Sangsters begin:
Whan the sang is owre
The quiet comes in.
1942
SAMSON
The hands that riv’d the lion’s maw,
The hands that wi’ nae sword nor spear
Brocht a hale army to the fa’
Like it had been a field o’ bear,
Were hankl’d be a lassie’s hair.
Samson, wha brak a raip like straw,
And dung the doors o’ Ashkelon;
Wha heistit Gaza’s gates awa,
Becam the byword o’ the toun—
Afore he pu’d the pillars doun.
1943
POEMS AND LYRICS
MORTALITY
The still hour lowdens hicht and howe
And gethers at a little door.
The auld wife dovers be the lowe
And far awa is the world’s roar.
Sae far awa is the world’s doom
Whaur touns and angry armies fa’;
And yet inby the quiet room
Time’s bluid dreeps frae the wag-at-the-wa’.
1943
BALLAD
O! shairly ye hae seen my love
Doun whaur the waters wind:
He walks like ane wha fears nae man
And yet his e’en are kind.
O! shairly ye hae seen my love
At the turnin o’ the tide;
For then he gethers in the nets
Doun be the waterside.
O! lassie I hae seen your love
At the turnin o’ the tide;
And he was wi’ the fisher-folk
Doun be the waterside.
The fisher-folk were at their trade
No far frae Walnut Grove;
They gether’d in their dreepin nets
And fund your ain true love.
1943
95
96 POEMS IN SCOTS
WHAN GLEDNESS HAS GROWN GREY
Tak thocht that in a hundred years
A body no unlike yoursel
Will ken a gledness whan he hears
The gowk cry on the hamely hill.
And whan your ain joy has grown grey,
And sma’s the comfort for your care,
Ca’ ben the thocht o’ yon far day
Bricht in the gowd and green o’ the year.
194:3
BALLAD
Far in the nicht whan faint the müne
My love knock’t at the door:
He spak nae word as he walkit in,
And wi’ nae sound stepp’t owre.
White was his face in the thin licht,
And white his hands and feet:
Like snaw, that in itsel is bricht,
White was his windin-sheet.
He look’t on me wi’ sichtless e’en,
And yet his e’en were kind:
And a’ the joys that we had taen
Thrang’d up into my mind.
And for the whilie he was near, Glimmerin in the gloom,
I thocht the hale o’ the world was there
Sae sma’ in a sma’ room.
1943
POEMS AND LYRICS
THE DARK THOCHT
Up on the hill abüne the toun
Whan pit-mirk is the nicht,
And but a star or twa glent doun
Wi their cauld and clinty licht;
A thocht comes cryin through the bluid
That there is nae toun ava:
~ Only the water and the wüd
And the heuch attowre them a’:
And set within a nicht sae black,
And in sae lane an hour,
Wha kens gin he is glowerin back
Gr glimmerin far afore?
1943
BRICHTNESS
Frae straucht abüne
The licht dreels doun,
And the bare stane
Lowes in the toun.
Through reemlin air
Steeple and street
Are burnin clear
In steady heat:
In steady fire
Sae crystal bricht
Causey and spire
Burn back to licht.
1943
oT
98 POEMS IN SCOTS
DREAM
Out o’ the glimmerin darkness walk’d the shade,
Walk’t on atween the planets and the stars
As in a münelicht yirden fu’ o’ fleurs.
Quietly he gaed and wi’ a quiet hand
Lifted the glintin earth and cried on Man
Attowre the darkness; and the human shape
Cam to the shade, and stüde, amd spak nae word.
Syne, as the sound o’ silence, the shade spak:
‘Flere is the earth 1 pie ye, like a rose,
To be the hairst and death o’ your desire.’
But Man stüde still; and cried wi’ angry voice:
“There is nae fareweel to desire; and nane
Can gether joy and sorrow like a fleur.’
And at the word the shade turn’d and was gaen
Back to the blackness: but the human shape
That kent nae end to gledness and to grief
Boo’d owre the earth as it had been a bairn.
1943
THEME AND VARIATION!
STAR SWARM
(Borts PAsTERNAK)
Up and attour the Grampian snaw
Gaed sterns; and owre the sauty links;
And owre the rocks that runch’d the sea:
Wa’s murl’d in mirk;
And thochts breeng’d oot o’ chinks
Whaur tears forgat to fa’:
Alane in its Sahara smirl’d the Sphinx.
Rax’t tapers, like John Barleycorn’s bluid,
Frostit in air: the fleur and the fleur
O”’ sinder’d lips flanter’d awa
Wi’ the ebb o’ the nicht and the back-swaw
O’ the tide in its thowless hour.
Blufferts frae aff Morocco brash’d the fltide:
It was nae trumpet blaw;
Nae trumpet blaw:
Eagles, owre Ararat, claw’d up the clüde:
A maw gaed by a bowspar As the daw glunsh’d on the Ganges’ glaur:
Cannels, abüne a cauld face, crin’d awa.
1934
1 Acknowledgement is made to the following poets: Andras Ady;
Solomon Bloomgarten; Sergei Essenin; David Fliskin; Neil Foggie;
William Jeffrey; Boris Pasternak.—W.S.
99
100 POEMS IN SCOTS
THE TWA MICE
(‘He was a rat and she was a rat’)
Doun in Drumclog there was a mouse
Wha bade wi’ his guid-brither:
Stane-blind he was; but kent nae doot
His ae thoumb frae the tither.
For he had sic a nackie snoot
And was sae gleg o’ hearin,
That he cud tell ye what was what
Afore ye thocht o’ speerin.
Ae nicht whan beddit on the strae,
Ben in their hole sae hoddie,
The blind mouse wauken’d wi’ a whuff
That cam frae birslin crowdie.
‘Brither!’ he wheep’t, and lowp’t attour:
“This is nae time for snorin:
Oor kytes were toom whan we lay doun
But they'll be fou the morn.
Tak ye a ticht haud o’ my tail,
Sin it be pit-mirk, brither;
And I'll gang on mair forretsome
Nor you or onie ither.’
Oot frae their hoddie-hole they steer’d
Wi’ a’ the world afore them:
And they’ll be gey far-traikit noo—
Gin naething has come owre them.
1935
THEME AND VARIATION 10]
MERLIN
( WILLIAM JEFFREY )
W 1’ a laich sound the frostit firs
Skriff’t the cauld air
Whaur the schaw mirken’d like a mind
Craz'd wi its care.
And as a thocht, yont onie poo’r
For guile or guid,
An auld man wi’ unsichted e’en
Traik’d through the wüd.
And owre and owre, as he gaed on
Sae drearily,
He murl’d: ‘O! earth I am alane
And canna dee.’
“Alane, alane!’ the mirken’d schaw
Maunner’d his care
As wi’ laich sound the frostit firs
Skriff’t the cauld air.
1934
POVERTY
(From the Panchatantra )
A wafhe rax’t attour the kirkyaird dyke
And, nappin on a grave-stane wi’ his stick,
Cried: ‘Wauken up! gin ye hae onie hert,
Sin nane amang the quick will ease ae pairt
O’ my fou pack o’ poverty.’ Daylang
He rattl’d for the riddance o’ his wrang;
But nae word spak the corp: he was sae shair
The dead are safter beddit nor the puir.
1935
102 POEMS IN SCOTS
LEERIE-LICHT
(Davip Füskin)
Whan leerie-licht comes doun the street
He’s thrang’d wi’ rowtin bairns:
‘Leerie-leerie licht the lamps
Ye canna licht the sterns.’
But leerie as he lichts the lamps
Has aye the hindmaist lauch:
‘Gin I had a langer pole
I’d licht them süne eneuch.’
1940
BAIRNTIME
(NeIL Foccie)
He laid the lamb aside the yowe:
He clear’d the swite frae aff his broo:
And was minded o’ anither airt
Whan he saw his hands a’ bluid and dirt.
His wife had come to her jizzen hour:
The howdie ca’d him to the door:
And the fear, that frae his hert had gaen,
Was there to meet him in her e’en.
He taen a lang look at ilka face:
He brocht himsel’ back amang the baes:
And the stark misery o’ his mind
Was in his hands; they were sae kind.
1938
THE ROBIN
(A Welsh Legend)
A robin near the howes o’ hell,
Whan snaw was owre the sheuch,
Heard the sair dunder o’ the damn’d
Soom frae a smochy cleuch.
‘O wha that has a bonnie bairn,
Or a bonnie bairn wud hae,
Will bring us water frae the burn
And berries frae the brae?’
Nae berry glinted on the thorn;
The glaister’d burn was still;
But there was monie a biggit drift
Wud hap the howes o’ hell.
‘Sma is my micht:’ the robin pleept:
‘And muckle-mou’d yon cleuch;
But half its morth o’ misery
Wud hae brocht me süne eneuch.’
Nae mair he spak; but in a gliff
Gaed ben the smeuchterin maw,
And skimmer’d owre the lowpin’ lowe
Wi’ caller sowps 0’ snaw:
On whitterin wing he lichted doun,
To lowse the frosty flaucht,
As bruckit frae the brundin bale
The rizzard gapes upraucht.
Frauchfu’ he flitter’d back and fore
Or day was nearly düne
And the cauld glister on the hills
Glozen’d afore the sin.
Frae a bare briar his scowder’d breist
Low’d in the mirknin air;
But it had been nae kindly licht
That brocht the brichtness there.
1936
THE HUNT
(From a German Folk-song )
I stüde upon a green holt,
Abüne a windy murr,
Whan the sma’, white rose was fa’in
Doun through the simmer air.
Sae saftly cam the wind’s sound;
Sae saftly dee’d awa:
And aye the gowk wud sing cuckoo
Frae the schedow o’ the schaw.
But like a clap o’ thunder
That whudders in a crack,
The hunter’s horn rang owre the muir
And the hill gien it back.
The hunter rade a bluid-reid horse
And blew a siller horn;
And weel I kent as he gaed by
He socht the unicorn.
But the unicorn is rauchlie
And comes o’ gentle birth;
And kens that God has wal’d him oot
Abüne a’ baes on earth.
The unicorn is rauchlie
And rins upon the hicht;
Nor fastest fit can forret him
Nor hand can mank his micht.
Up gaed the frawfu’ hunter;
Sae saft I heard him blaw:
And saftly cam cuckoo, cuckoo
Frae the schedow o’ the schaw.
I stüde upon a green holt,
Abüne a windy muir,
Whaur the sma’, white rose was fa’in
Doun through the simmer air.
1933
HAUNTED
(SoLoMoN BLooMGARTEN )
In the pit-mirk o’ nicht
There is nae sound;
But an e’e, that is bricht,
Is peerin a’ round:
And lost in a lane airt
A hunted waif
Taks the glint through his hert
Like a cauld knife:
Yon gleg, glitterin e’e
Is aye abüne;
And it winna lat be
Though he rin and rin;
On, on, owre the still waste,
Wander’d wi’ fears,
Or the stound in his breist
Is a’ that he hears:
And the quiet grows mair dread
Nor a thunder-ca’;
And the world, aince sae wide,
Is crinin awa.
1940
POEM
(SERGEI ESSENIN )
The fower thackit wa’s I was born in
Are stanes on a brae:
And here in the yowtherin vennels
I am weirded to dee.
What thocht hae I noo o’ gae’n back there
Whaur the fields are forforn;
And the lanely whaup cries owre a muirland
That micht hae been corn.
Yet I lo’e this auld, scowtherie city;
A hell o’ a toun;
The lamplicht abüne the black water
That slooms by wi’ sma’ soun’.
And it’s then, whan awa owre the garrets
The müne breels alang,
That I lowch to the howff whaur sae aften
I’ve gaen — and will gang.
And a’ through the nicht, wi’ its stramash,
Sculdudry and sin,
I reel aff my sangs to the trollops
And shove round the gin;
Or the hert stounds sae loud in my breist,
This is a’ I can cry:
I am lost, you are lost, we are a’ lost,
And ken na the wey.
The fower thackit wa’s I was born in
Are stanes on a brae:
And here in the yowtherin vennels
I am weirded to dee.
1934
I LANG TO GIE MYSEL’
(ANDRAS ADY)
I hae nae bairn to gie his bairn my name:
Faither and mither and nae fere I claim:
Dead to the dead I am:
Dead to the dead I am.
Like ilka man I am a mystery:
A lanely sea-bird owre a landless sea:
A gleed sae süne blawn by:
A gleed sae süne blawn by.
And in my laneliness nae ease I win:
I lang to gie mysel’ to a’ mankin’;
That I micht be their ain:
That I micht be their ain.
I wud be nae mair loveless; I wud gang
Hale in the herts o’ a’: this is my sang;
My sorrow and my sang:
My sorrow and my sang.
1934