Christ succour and remeid that stad
for he livis at ease that freely livis,
so sing with us - away, winter, away !
Obey and thank thy God for all,
for martyr thou art for Scotlandis richt.
Thoch Luve be sweit, oftimes it is full sour
and the mair vertew thou sud hae tae keep thee.
A harlot wonnit neir by and scho
shot her meikle mou and aye scho winkit
- Allace ! With a rair - reven is ma reid !
Ane spark of Luve then til his hairt cud spring
ilk day.
- My Guddame wes a gay wyfe, but she wes
the Fiendis fell. Mahoun gart cry - A dance!
Syne - gousty shaddois of eild and grisly deid.
Nou sensual pleesour hes banisht Chastitie.
Nae cause tae sing, for in this New Year I see
Willie, allane, at Christ’s Kirk on the Green.
- O Mistress mine, til you I me commend !
Hir persone so perfyte, Nature in hir
but breakis my hairt, and nocht the better -
O Venus clere, of Goddis stelliyit,
fane wad I luve, bot quhairabout ?
Luf hes me wardit in ane park of pane,
without gledness, quhair ivir I ryd or go.
Thir Lenterne dayis ar luvely lang,
your twa fair ene is wyte of all my wo,
For hir maik mair dule,
than I may nocht indure!
All winter throcht this ros wis reid and now
irkit I am with langsum Luvis lair,
mara bhfaigh me’ furtacht traa’th,
go hairt, unto the lamp of licht, go hairt,
to seek ma spreit I sent my hairt tae thee,
to follow thee, it frae my body fled.
Now skaillis the sky, the nicht is neir gaun,
frae bank to bank, frae wuid tae wuid I rin,
led bi a blin, and teachit bi a bairn,
the ane’s but smoke, the ither is but the wind.
Lang may the ladies staund
wi their gowden kems tae haund -
and wi ae lock o his gowden hair
we’ll theek our nest when it grouwes bare.
O, he’s mounted her
on a milk white steed
and they rade on and on,
they rade and aa
till it’s whaur hae ye been,
my handsome young man ?
Yestreen I dreamed a dolefou dream,
Clerk Saunders said - A bed for you and me,
Elfland, where thou and I this nicht maun gae,
tae the bonnie milldams o Binnorie,
till the channerin worm doth chide
- But whit wull ye leave tae your bairns and your wife ?
O the curse o Hell fae me sall ye beir.
The like o Habbie was nae than but now -
wha wadnae be in love wi bonnie Maggie?
She’s aff wi the Gaberlunzie Man !
Lord (since thou know’st where all these atoms are)
abhore and hold a synod in thy heart.
In days when our King Robert rang his trews
(nou he gings droupin about the dykes),
refleck, I was a dug in much respect.
- Set down! Drive at the jango till he spew,
wooed and merried and aa merried and wooed.
The sky saddens with the gathered storm.
A hare, ae morning, chanced tae see a partan
dance the reel o Tullochgorum.
Cope sent a challenge tae Dunbar -
The Flooers o the Forest are aa wede awa
and all true Scots wi God importunat be
from Pride, Poverty and Greed united.
North, our kintra leid is faur fae barren
so tell me how tae woo thee, Love ; o tell
wi routh o gabby saws and says and jokes
hou cauld blaws the nippan North wi angry souchs !
Waes o ma hert fa in shooers fae ma ee,
I backward cast my ee on prospects drear.
The mair she bangs the less she squeals an hey,
frae the Forth, wha will buy my caller herrin ?
I shall rowe thee in my plaid, my bonnie
and we in dreams behold the Hebrides.
I hae grutten monie a day
as the laverock fae the blae lift drops.
And aye she loot the tears doonfa for Jock.
Mirk and rainy is the nicht, there’s no a starn,
in aa the cairry,
twas on a keen December night, John Frost
thro aa the kintra-side he ran
an far
my young footsteps in infancy wandered
up in the midnight towers, the belfried spire,
and the night has come, and planets glinted, O !
Ower the graves of the martyrs the peewits cry
for his father’s house looked out upon a firth
- nae sign o a thow yet,
ay that’s me, John Watt,
hameward,
ower the hill in the sma, sma rain.
O wad this braw hie-heapit toun sail aff,
these windy spaces are surely my own,
though the summer make a chill wet weather.
There was a star, but nou it disnae shine,
we were a tribe, a family, a people.
Nae man or movement’s worth a damn unless
whummelt I tak a bobquaw for the lift,
crawlin aboot like a snail in the mud
the great stones of the tomb enfolded Jesus.
She gane : and wi her aa ma simmer days.
As weill, imphm, in Embro tae the ploy.
Today a fine old face has gone under,
the salt-crusted sea boot, the red-eyed mackerel,
frost in my lungs is harsh as leaves scraped up
for it wad dee, the Cypress buss I plantit.
For I will sooth you in a softer bed,
the nether rocks of a headland never,
faain continuallie, wi nae devall.
She socht me,
dwell her thochts whaur dwalt her een ?
Hou monie things throu the years I hae been !
So farewell, Rhynie, and adieu to you!
A recruiting sergeant on me cast an eye,
we wandered up Jamaica Street and roond.
It’s there I had my first braw nicht wi Belle,
aa the roses and geans will turn tae bloom.
The shuttle rins,
the shuttle rins wi speed
and them that wark the hardest are aye
wi least provided nou
your Daddy’s doon the mine ma darlin,
your natural food it is tatties and herrin.
Too well they knew the danger and the risk.
When came ye over, bold Erin Go Bragh ?
He disnae like yer face, it’s Paddy are ye?
I ken whaur I’m gaun, you’re no comin wi me.
A wis ludgin wi Big Aggie,
she’s juist a Kelty clippie
hame drunk on Monday nicht cam I
singing -
My Blackbird Is Forever Flown !
- Oh lease me on your curly pow.
My joys would be complete, lassie, lie near me.
And wi you, and wi you,
and wi you, ma Johnnie lad,
and ho the cuck and hey the cuckoo’s nest.
and noo ma caunle it is neir brunt oot,
she lies ablow my body’s lust and luve.
The waiting good I send this drop to melt,
go sad or sweet or riotious with beer,
I lie here still. Yes truly still.
Oh had her apron bidden doun the Kirk
wad ne’er hae kenned
She’s howket a grave bi the licht o the muin
and when I return I will lay ye doon.
To her all along by the Magdalen Green
an the rose is aye the redder aye.
The green grass owre his grave was growing,
he was a bonnie callant
and he played at the ba,
young Jamie Foyers, the flooer o them aa,
aye, the young lad named John Thomson ,
fae the Wellesley Pit he came.
Cam aa ye tramps and hawkers,
ye gaitherers ablaw,
nnvent, bright friends, Theology or die.
There’s the chink atween thinkin and daein,
owre monie ghaists, fir me tae gang ma lane
tae staund atween the day - sky and the nicht.
Their daughters and their sons are a wood going,
aince mair tae the plantin and the pearlin -
Eros rules, floret silva undique.
They ca’d him Jock the Lum, my faither,
he was a makar, weel ye may believe it.
There is ae silence for Baudelaire,
what galaxies he endit whan you deed !
Ring of waves, row of nets, string of lights,
doon tae the shore at the fit o the toun
we socht for bait on the braid bay sands,
skirlin and lauchin, ilk wi spindthrift weet
Gif I had ae short simmer o sang
An caa my nain da heft I cannae hae,
the lane sodger lad, his leefou lane,
An aa for whit ? Was Hamlet gyte ? Discuss
a sairie actor that strunts and rants his hoor . . .
Ocht wheesht ma hert, an wheesht yet mair ma mou.
Yer poems are deean in the Ha’s o Academe,
there are ither sichts for willin een tae see,
for there like a barfuit bairn staunds nicht.
Whit I wis, I’m no nou,
- Ye’ve cheenged, you say,
an wi whit ferlie een, syne, dae I see ?
We dinnae speak lik this : we do not talk thus.
Do they not know they wring my heart as well ?
I wrote on the page from the West to the East,
God wove her web of being all divine,
howker o braw seams, Christ the Miner.
As long as there shall but one hundred of us remain alive,
land of my heart forever, Scotland the . . .
As long as there shall but one hundred of us remain alive,
A long as there shall but one hundred of us remain alive,
A long as there shall but one hundred of us remain alive,
A lon as there shall but one hundred of us remain alive,
A lon as here all but one hundred of us remain alive,
As long as there shall but one und ed of us remain alive,
As long as here one s em in live,
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