Absent-minded Andra
Men are but bairns at the best,
And need close watchin' ever.
Andra's nae better than the rest,
As often I discover.
What aggravates me most o' a',
Is he's sae absent-minded;
For mony a thing he lays awa',
Sae safe he canna' find it.
Oft in the mornin' roond he creeps,
Seekin' his stud, puir soul;
Although a spare ane he aye keeps
It's in some hidie-hole.
For gettin' things mislaid, indeed,
My Andra's sic a chiel;
I'm certain he would lose his heid
If 'twasna fixed on weel.
Things reached a crisis, I declare,
Wi' him last Friday nicht;
In fact, he gae me sic a scare,
Even noo I'm hardly richt.
On Fridays he aye gets his pay,
And, as a rule we go
Tae visit mither doon the way
Or tae a picter show.
Andra was late o' comin' in,
"What's keepit ye?" I cried.
"I stood a while there bletherin'
Wi' a chap," he replied.
"Puir lad, he hasna got a job;
Been on the dole awhile;
So I just lent him a bit bob,
Tae help him ower the stile."
"It's like ye," I said, "but mak' haste,
You've stood wi' him ower lang,
And I have little time tae waste,
I've messages tae gang.
If you gie me your pay I'll rin,
The shops by noo are shuttin',
See that you're cleaned when I come in,
And dressed tae the last button."
Andra rose tae his feet and tried
His pockets, ane by ane.
"I canna find my pay," he cried,
"I wonder whaur it's gane.
Dash it a', Meg, I put it here
Beside my pocket-book,
But noo, my pooch is toom - that's queer,
Just come, my lass, and look."
"You've lost your pay," I cried aghast,
For I was sair distressed.
"In some fly pooch you've put it past,
Come, let me try your vest."
But though wa searched wi' anxious care,
Nae pound notes could we find,
"They're safe," said Andra, "that I'll swear,
But where, I canna mind."
"This cowes the cuddy," I declared,
"I meant tae lay away
As much this week as could be spared
For a comin' holiday.
What did ye gie that man ye saw?
No' your hale pay, I hope ?"
"A bob," said Andra, "maybe twa,
But no' my envelope."
I couldna help it, doon I sat
Completely overpowered;
And raged and stormed, and grat and grat,
While Andra glumched and glowered.
"Ye needna cairry on like that,"
Said he tae me at last;
"The money's safe, I'll bet ma hat,
I ken I put it past."
Tae his tobacco-pooch he gaed
Tae get his briar filled ;
Then waved something abune his heid,
"My pey bag's here!" he yelled.
I felt my brain begin to swim,
And shaky grew my knees;
"Andra," I said, as I kissed him,
"You'll gie me he'rt disease."
Meaning of unusual words:
bairns=children
aye=always
sic a chiel=such a child
bletherin'=talk idly
gang=go
toom=empty
cowes the cuddy=beats the donky (takes the biscuit)
A bob=a shilling (now 5 new pence)
grat=cried
glumched=grumbled, looked sour
MadWelshie
Address to the Barley Seed
When the Lord first planted oot the earth wi' trees an' flo'ers an' weeds,
He scattered roon' Speyside a puckle barley seeds;
Thus was the birth o' Scotia's brew on that fair springtime morn,
For in the month that followed, John Barleycorn was born.
The threshin' plant had scarce made off, the golden grain was cairted,
Syne bags for siller were exchanged an' industry was started.
O barley seed, had ye but known the fate that lay before ye,
The very day in which ye breared ye'd ha'e telt die earth tae smo'er ye.
Regardless o' yer injured pride, yer golden grains sae gleamin',
They ran ye on conveyor belts that in a steep were teemin',
An' there ye lay for 'oors on end, sae soakin' an' sae sodden.
Syne they spread ye oot tae dry, trampled on an' trodden.
Frae there they took ye tae the kiln, ye thocht they'd only toast ye.
They held on coke an' peats until, ye thocht, 'My God, they'll roast me!'
They sent ye tae the millroom an' they hackit an' they cut ye.
Syne they sent ye aff again, in the Glory Hole they shut ye.
An' so ye cam' tae the day o' days when the mashman started mashin';
They pushed ye doon the hopper in tae the mashtun splashin';
They soaked ye in the bilin' bree an' drained the watter aff;
They sheeled ye doon the drag hole an' noo yer only draff.
O whit a come doon tae yer pride, wee golden barley seed,
Tae think ye'd land in sic a soss for the sake o' human greed.
Tae think that once yer golden grains were shimmerin' in the breeze
An' noo yer lyin' stinkin' like ony mouldy cheese.
But ye've ae consolation that canna fail tae cheer ye,
For noo there's millions love ye, aye, an' millions also fear ye.
Noo ye're in a bottle, in the world ye stand supreme -
The world wad gang doon on its knees tae ye O Mountain Cream.
They preach ye frae the pulpit, an' mony a woman's cursed ye,
Aye, an' mony a cheel when he threw the mash wad cherish ye and nurse ye.
Ye bring a sparkle tae the e'e, ye also bring a tear,
Ye've saved a life, ye've caused a death, ye inspire baith pluck an' fear.
In solace noo, wee barley seed, or is it barley bree?
I'd like tae say that ilka day my hand gangs oot for ye,
At seven o' clock each mornin', at five o'clock each nicht.
If I should fail tae find ye, I'd drap doon deid wi' fricht.
Meaning of unusual words:
puckle=small amount
Syne=soon
breared=first shoots of grain
steep=soak
hackit=chop up
sheeled=took out the husk
draff=refuse of the malt after brewing
sic a soss=such a thud
ae=one
barley bree=malt liquor, whisky
ilka=every
llanfairpg
Address to a Haggis
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin' race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm - reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi perfect sconner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit:
Thro bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade.
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
Ye Pow`rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, If ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!
Meaning of unusual words:
sonsie=cheerful
Aboon=Above
Painch=paunch
thairm=guts
wordy=worthy
hurdies=buttocks
pin=skewer
dight=wipe
slight=skill
Trenching=Digging
reekin=steaming
weel-swall'd kytes=well-swollen bellies
belyve=soon
Guidman=Head of the household
rive=burst
staw=sicken
sconner=disgust
feckless=weak
rash=rush
nieve a nit=fist a nut
sned=trim
taps o thrissle= tops of thistle
skinking=watery
jaups=splashes
luggies=wooden bowl with projecting handles
llanfairpg
Address to the Toothache
My curse upon your venom'd stang.
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang,
An thro my lug gies monie a twang Wi gnawing vengeance,
Tearing my nerves wi bitter pang,
Like racking engines!
A' down my beard the slavers trickle,
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle.
While round the fire the giglets keckle,
To see me loup.
An raving mad, I wish a heckle
Were i' their doup!
When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes,
Our neebors sympathise to ease us,
Wi pitying moan;
But thee! - thou hell o a' diseases -
They mock our groan!
Of a' the numerous human dools -
Ill-hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy frien's laid i' the mools,
Sad sight to see!
The tricks o knaves, or fash o fools -
Thou bear'st the gree!
Whare'er that place be priests ca' Hell,
Whare a' the tones o misery yell,
An ranked plagues their numbers tell,
In dreadfu raw,
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell,
Amang them a'!
O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes o discord squeel,
Till human kind aft dance a reel
In gore, a shoe-thick,
Gie a' the faes o Scotland's weal
A towmond's toothache!
llanfairpg
My Son, these maxims make a rule,
An lump them ay thegither:
The Rigid Righteous is a fool.
The Rigid Wise anither;
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight
May hae some pyles o caff in;
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight
For random fits o daffin.
O ye, wha are sae guid yoursel,
Sae pious and sae holy,
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell
Your neebours' fauts and folly!
Whose life is like a weel-gaun mill,
Supplied wi store o water;
The heapet happer's ebbing still.
An still the clap plays clatter!
Hear me, ye venerable core,
As counsel for poor mortals
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door
For glaikit Folly's portals:
I for their thoughtless, careless sakes,
Would here propone defences
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes,
Their failings and mischances.
Ye see your state wi theirs compared,
And shudder at the niffer:
But cast a moment's fair regard,
What maks the mighty differ?
Discount what scant occasion gave,
That purity ye pride in;
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave)
Your better art o hidin.
Think, when your castigated pulse
Gies now and then a wallop,
What ragings must his veins convulse,
That still eternal gallop!
Wi wind and tide fair i your tail
Right on ye scud your sea-way;
But in the teeth o baith to sail,
It maks an unco lee-way.
See Social Life and Glee sit down,
All joyous and unthinking,
Till, quite transmugrify'd, they're grown
Debauchery and Drinking:
O, would they stay to calculate
Th' eternal consequences,
Or your more dreaded hell to state -
Damnation of expenses!
Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,
Tied up in godly laces,
Before ye gie poor Frailty names.
Suppose a change o cases:
A dear-lov'd lad. convenience snug,
A treach'rous inclination -
But, let me whisper i your lug,
Ye're aiblins nae temptation.
Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Tho they may gang a kennin wrang,
To step aside is human:
One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving Why they do It;
And just as lamely can ye mark,
How far perhaps they rue it.
Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us:
He knows each chord, its various tone,
Each spring, its various bias:
Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it.
What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted.
MadWelshie
The Ancient Town of Leith
Ancient town of Leith, most wonderful to be seen,
With your many handsome buildings, and lovely links so green,
And the first buildings I may mention are the Courthouse and Town Hall,
Also Trinity House, and the Sailors' Home of Call.
Then as for Leith Fort, it was erected in 1779, which is really grand,
And which is now the artillery headquarters in Bonnie Scotland;
And as for the Docks, they are magnificent to see,
They comprise five docks, two piers, 1,141 yards long respectively.
And there's steam boat communication with London and the North of Scotland,
And the fares are really cheap and the accommodation most grand;
Then there's many public works in Leith, such as flour mills,
And chemical works, where medicines are made for curing many ills.
Then there's Bailie Gibson's fish shop, most elegant to be seen,
And the fish he sells there are beautiful and clean;
And for himself, he is a very good man,
And to deny it there's few people can.
The suburban villas of Leith are elegant and grand,
With accommodation that might suit the greatest lady in the land;
And the air is pure and good for the people's health, --
And health, I'm sure, is better by far than wealth.
The old town of Leith is situated at the junction of the River of Leith,
Which springs from the land of heather and heath;
And no part in the Empire is growing so rapidly,
Which the inhabitants of Leith are right glad to see.
Ancient town of Leith, I must now conclude my muse,
And to write in praise of thee my pen does not refuse,
Because the inhabitants to me have been very kind,
And I'm sure more generous people would be hard to find.
They are very affable in temper and void of pride,
And I hope God will always for them provide;
May He shower His blessings upon them by land and sea,
Because they have always been very kind to me.
llanfairpg
Loch Katrine
Beautiful Loch Katrine in all thy majesty so grand,
Oh! how charming and fascinating is thy silver strand!
Thou certainly art most lovely, and worthy to be seen,
Especially thy beautiful bay and shrubberies green.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
And as I gaze upon it, let me pause and think,
How many people in Glasgow of its water drink,
That's conveyed to them in pipes from its placid lake,
And are glad to get its water their thirst to slake.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
The mountains on either side of it are beautiful to be seen,
Likewise the steamers sailing on it with their clouds of steam:
And their shadows on its crystal waters as they pass along,
Is enough to make the tourist burst into song.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
'Tis beautiful to see its tiny wimpling rills,
And the placid Loch in the hollow of a circle of hills,
Glittering like silver in the sun's bright array,
Also many a promontory, little creek, and bay.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
Then to the east there's the finely wooded Ellen's Isle,
There the tourist can the tedious hours beguile,
As he gazes on its white gravelled beautiful bay,
It will help to drive dull care away.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
The mountains Ben-An and Ben-Venue are really very grand,
Likewise the famous and clear silver strand;
Where the bold Rob Roy spent many a happy day,
With his faithful wife, near by its silvery bay.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
llanfairpg
Lines on Revisiting a Scottish River
And call they this Improvement? — to have changed,
My native Clyde, thy once romantic shore,
Where Nature's face is banish'd and estranged,
And Heaven reflected in thy wave no more;
Whose banks, that sweeten'd May-day's breath before,
Lie sere and leafless now in summer's beam,
With sooty exhalations cover'd o'er;
And for the daisied green-sward, down thy stream
Unsightly brick-lanes smoke, and clanking engines gleam.
Speak not to me of swarms the scene sustains;
One heart free tasting Nature's breath and bloom
Is worth a thousand slaves to Mammon's gains.
But whither goes that wealth, and gladdening whom?
See, left but life enough and breathing-room
The hunger and the hope of life to feel,
Yon pale Mechanic bending o'er his loom,
And Childhood's self as at Ixion's wheel,
From morn till midnight task'd to earns its little meal.
Is this Improvement? — where the human breed
Degenerates as they swarm and overflow,
Till toil grows cheaper than the trodden weed,
And man competes with man, like foe with foe,
Till Death, that thins them scarce seems public woe?
Improvement! — smiles it in the poor man's eyes,
Or blooms it on the cheek of Labour? - No —
To gorge a few with Trade's precarious prize,
We banish rural life, and breathe unwholesome skies.
Nor call that evil slight; God has not given
This passion to the heart of man in vain,
For Earth's green face, th'untainted air of Heaven,
And all the bliss of Nature's rustic reign.
For not alone our frame imbibes a stain
From fetid skies; the spirit's healthy pride
Fades in their gloom — And therefore I complain,
That thou no more through pastoral scenes shouldst glide,
My Wallace's own stream, and once romantic Clyde!
MadWelshie
Bruce and the Spider
For Scotland's and for freedom's right,
The Bruce his part has played;
In five successive fields of fight,
Been conquered and dismayed:
Once more against the English host,
His band he led, and once more lost
The meed for which he fought;
And now from battle, faint and worn,
The homeless fugitive, forlorn,
A hut's lone shelter sought.
And cheerless was that resting-place,
For him who claimed a throne;
His canopy, devoid of grace,
The rude, rough beams alone;
The heather couch his only bed -
Yet well I ween had slumber fled,
From couch of eider down!
Through darksome night till dawn of day,
Absorbed in wakeful thought he lay,
Of Scotland and her crown.
The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
Fell on that hapless bed,
And tinged with light each shapeless beam,
Which roofed the lowly shed;
When, looking up with wistful eye,
The Bruce beheld a spider try
His filmy thread to fling
From beam to beam of that rude cot -
And well the insect's toilsome lot,
Taught Scotland's future king.
Six times the gossamery thread
The wary spider threw;
In vain the filmy line was sped,
For powerless or untrue,
Each aim appeared, and back recoiled,
The patient insect, six times foiled,
And yet unconquered still;
And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
Saw him prepare once more to try
His courage, strength, and skill.
One effort more, his seventh and last!
The hero hailed the sign!
And on the wished-for beam hung fast
That slender silken line!
Slight as it was, his spirit caught
The more than omen; for his thought
The lesson well could trace,
Which even "he who runs may read,"
That Perseverance gains its meed,
And Patience wins the race.
MadWelshie
The Paidlin' Wean
Come in the hoose this moment, paidlin' oot there in the rain,
An', losh me! but ae buitie on, ye limmer o' a wean;
Come in an' tell me, if ye can, what great delicht ye tak'
In paidlin' in the siver till your face is perfect black?
I canna turn my back, atweel, to airn your faither's sark,
But if the door be left agee, ye slip oot to your wark,
An' stamp in a' the puddles, lauchin' as they jaup an' jow,
While a' the time the careless rain pelts doon upon your pow.
See what an awfu' mess ye've made o' a' your bonnie claes,
The peenie, tae, that I pat on this mornin' when ye raise;
'Twas white then as the new-fa'en sna', but noo as black's the lum,
An' what wi' treacly pieces, stickin' here an' there like gum.
An' noo ye maun be wash'd, nae doot, but hoo will I begin?
I think I'll get the muckle tub, an' dook ye tae the chin;
Dook ye ow'r the heid, ye rogue, an' skelp your hurdies tae,
An' see if that'll mak ye ony better for the day.
Noo, dinna shake your curly heid, an' shape your mooth for no,
An' row yoursel' within my goon, an' lisp oot "keeky bo;"
For sic a steerin' plague ye've turn'd, an' grown sae fierce an' croose,
That I maun try some ither plan to keep ye in the hoose.
But, losh me! even as I speak, my anger's quaten'd doon,
An' so I kiss the rosy mou' that peeps oot frae my goon;
Straik an' clap the curly heid, an' a' to fairly prove
That the anger o' a mither's just anither name for love.
Meaning of unusual words:
Paidlin' Wean = paddling child
losh me! = goodness me!
ae buitie = one boot
limmer = rascal
siver = gutter, drain
airn = iron
sark = shirt
agee = ajar
jaup an' jow = splash and ripple
pow = head
peenie = pinafore
lum = chimney
treacly pieces = bread and treacle (molasses)
maun = must
muckle = large
dook = plunge
skelp your hurdies tae = smack your buttocks too
row = wrap
goon = gown
sic = such
steerin' = stubborn
croose = lively
Straik an' clap = stroke and smooth
MadWelshie
Scotland Yet
Gae bring my guid auld harp aince mair;
Gae bring it free and fast,
For I maun sing anither sang
Ere a' my glee be past:
And trow ye as I sing my lads,
The burthen o't shall be -
Auld Scotland's howes and Scotland's knowes,
And Scotland's hills for me!
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi a' the honours three!
The heath waves wild upon her hills,
Her foaming frae the fells,
Her fountains sing o' freedom still,
As they dance down the dells.
And weel I loe the land, my lads,
That's girded by the sea.
Then Scotland's vales, and Scotland's dales,
And Scotland's hills for me;
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi a' the honours three!
The thistle wags upon the fields
Where Wallace bore his blade,
That her foeman's dearest build
To dye her auld grey plaid:
And looking to the lift my lads,
He sang in doughty glee -
"Auld Scotland's right, and Scotland's might,
And Scotland's hills for me;"
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three!
They tell o' lands wi' brighter skies,
Where freedom's voices ne're rang;
Gie me the hills where Ossian lies,
And Coila's minstrel sang,
That ken na to be free.
Then Scotland's right, and Scotland's might,
And Scotland's hills for me;"
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three!
MadWelshie
The Lass o' Gowrie
'Twas on a simmer's afternoon,
A wee afore the sun gaed doun,
A lassie wi' a braw new goun
Cam' owre the hills to Gowrie.
The rosebud washed in simmer's shower
Bloomed fresh within the sunny bower;
But Kitty was the fairest flower
That e'er was seen in Gowrie.
To see her cousin she cam' there;
And oh! the scene was passing fair,
For what in Scotland can compare
Wi' the Carse o' Gowrie?
The sun was setting on the Tay,
The blue hills melting into gray,
The mavis and the blackbird's lay
Were sweetly heard in Gowrie.
O lang the lassie I had wooed,
And truth and constancy had vowed,
But could nae speed wi' her I lo'ed
Until she saw fair Gowrie.
I pointed to my faither's ha' -
Yon bonnie bield ayont the shaw,
Sae loun that there nae blast could blaw: -
Wad she no bide in Gowrie?
Her faither was baith glad and wae;
Her mither she wad naething say;
The bairnies thocht they wad get play
If Kitty gaed to Gowrie.
She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet;
The blush and tear were on her cheek;
She naething said, and hung her head; -
But now she's Leddy Gowrie.
