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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Bonnie Joann - and other poems - -Author: Violet Jacob - -Release Date: December 6, 2022 [eBook #69484] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Sonya Schermann and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BONNIE JOANN *** - - - - - -BONNIE JOANN - - - - -_BY VIOLET JACOB_ - -SONGS _of_ ANGUS - -FIFTH IMPRESSION - - -“The dialect is Angus, and in every song there is the sound of the east -wind and the rain.... She has many moods, from the stalwart humour of -‘The Beadle o’ Drumlee’ and ‘Jeemsie Miller’ to the haunting lilt of -‘The Gean-Trees’ and the pathos of ‘Craigo Woods’ and ‘The Lang Road,’ -but in them all are the same clarity of vision and clear beauty of -phrase.” - - _From_ MR. JOHN BUCHAN’S _Preface_. - - -LONDON: JOHN MURRAY - - - - - BONNIE JOANN - - AND OTHER POEMS - - BY VIOLET JACOB - - LONDON - - JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. - 1921 - - - - -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - - TO MY NEPHEW - - WILLIAM KENNEDY-ERSKINE - - MOST UNDERSTANDING OF READERS - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - BONNIE JOANN 1 - - THE WIND FRAE THE BALTIC 3 - - THE TRAMP TO THE TATTIE-DULIE 5 - - HALLOWE’EN 8 - - ADAM 10 - - THE DAFT BIRD 13 - - PRIDE 15 - - ‘KIRRIE’ 17 - - THE END O’T 20 - - THE KELPIE 22 - - BALTIC STREET 25 - - BAILIE BRUCE 28 - - CHARLEWAYN 31 - - THE MUCKLE MOU’ 34 - - THE GANGEREL 36 - - THE TINKLER’S BALOO 38 - - THE BANKS O’ THE ESK 40 - - THE WISE-LIKE CHAP 41 - - INVERQUHARITY 43 - - FAUR-YE-WEEL 46 - - - IN ENGLISH - - A YOUNG MAN’S SONG 50 - - THE SHADOWS 51 - - A WINTER PHANTASY 52 - - MARSEY TOWN 54 - - THE SEASONS 55 - - -All these poems, with the exception of the last two in the book, have -appeared in _Country Life_, and I have to thank the editor for his -courteous permission to reproduce them. - - V. J. - - - - -BONNIE JOANN - -_AND OTHER POEMS_ - - - - -BONNIE JOANN - - - We’ve stookit the hairst an’ we’re needin’ - To gaither it in, - Syne, gin the morn’s dry, we’ll be leadin’ - An’ wark’ll begin; - But noo I’ll awa doon the braeside - My lane, while I can-- - Wha kens wha he’ll meet by the wayside, - My bonnie Joann? - - East yonder, the hairst-fields are hidin’ - The sea frae my een, - Gin ye keek whaur the stocks are dividin’ - Ye’ll see it atween. - Sae douce an’ sae still it has sleepit - Since hairst-time began - Like my he’rt--gin ye’d tak’ it an’ keep it - My bonnie Joann. - - Owre a’thing the shadows gang trailin’, - Owre stubble an’ strae; - Frae the hedge to the fit o’ the pailin’ - They rax owre the way; - But the sun may gang through wi’ his beamin’ - An’ traivel his span, - For aye, by the licht o’ my dreamin’, - I see ye, Joann. - - Awa frae ye, naebody’s braver, - Mair wise-like an’ bauld, - Aside ye, I hech an’ I haver, - I’m het an’ I’m cauld; - But oh! could I tell wi’out speakin’ - The he’rt o’ a man, - Ye micht find I’m the lad that ye’re seekin’, - My bonnie Joann! - - - - -THE WIND FRAE THE BALTIC - - - Below the wa’s, oot-by Montrose, - The tides ca’ up an’ doon - And mony’s the gallant mairchantman - Lies in aside the toon; - Oh, it’s fine alang the tideway - The loupin’ waters rin - When the wind is frae the Baltic wi’ the brigs comin’ in. - - I’d gie the ring upon my hand - To hide me frae the sea - That manes by nicht an’ cries by day - The dule that’s come to me, - For I’ll hear nae mair the fit-fa’ - When hame the brigs may win - O’ a man that sailed the Baltic, nor his step comin’ in. - - And noo the toon is fair asteer, - The weans rin doon the street, - And I may turn my face aboot - An’ get me hame to greet, - There’s sic a joy wi’ a’ fowk - My tears wad be a sin, - For the wind is frae the Baltic--an’ the brigs comin’ in. - - - - -THE TRAMP TO THE TATTIE-DULIE - - - Thrawn-leggit carle wi’ airms on hie - And jist a hole for ilka ee, - Ye needna lift yer hand to me - As though ye’d strike me; - Ye’re threits abune an’ strae below, - But what-like use is sic a show? - Ye maun respec’ me, bogle, tho’ - Ye mauna like me! - - To gutsy doo or thievin’ craw - Ye mebbe represent the law - When they come fleein’ owre the wa’ - To tak’ an airin’, - Dod, I’ll no say they arena richt - When sic a fell, unchancy sicht - Gars them think twice afore they licht-- - But _I’m_ no carin’! - - Yer heid’s a neep,[1] yer wame’s[2] a sack, - Yer ill-faured face gars bairnies shak’, - But yet the likes o’ you can mak’ - A livin’ frae it; - Sma’ use to me! It isna fair - For though there’s mony wad declare - That I’m no far ahint ye there, - _I_ canna dae it! - - Life’s a disgust wi’ a’ its ways, - For free o’ chairge ye get yer claes, - Nae luck hae I on washin’-days-- - There’s plenty dryin’, - But gin I see a usefu’ sark - An’ bide or gloamin’ help my wark, - The guidwife’s oot afore it’s dark-- - And leaves nane lyin’. - - Weel, weel, I’m aff. It’s little pleasure - To see ye standin’ at yer leisure - When I’ve sae mony miles to measure - To get a meal! - Ye idle dog! My bonnet’s through, - An’ yours is no exac’ly new, - But a’ the same I’ll hae’t frae you, - And faur-ye-weel! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Turnip. - -[2] Belly. - - - - -HALLOWE’EN - - - The tattie-liftin’s nearly through, - They’re ploughin’ whaur the barley grew, - And aifter dark, roond ilka stack, - Ye’ll see the horsemen stand an’ crack - O Lachlan, but I mind o’ you! - - I mind foo often we hae seen - Ten thoosand stars keek doon atween - The nakit branches, an’ below - Baith fairm an’ bothie hae their show, - Alowe wi’ lichts o’ Hallowe’en. - - There’s bairns wi’ guizards[3] at their tail - Clourin’ the doors wi’ runts[4] o’ kail, - And fine ye’ll hear the skreichs an’ skirls - O’ lassies wi’ their droukit curls - Bobbin’ for aipples i’ the pail. - - The bothie fire is loupin’ het, - A new heid horseman’s kist is set - Richts o’ the lum; whaur by the blaze - The auld ane stude that kept yer claes-- - I canna thole to see it yet! - - But gin the auld fowks’ tales are richt - An ghaists come hame on Hallow nicht, - O freend o’ freends! what wad I gie - To feel ye rax yer hand to me - Atween the dark an’ caun’le licht? - - Awa in France, across the wave, - The wee lichts burn on ilka grave, - An’ you an’ me their lowe hae seen-- - Ye’ll mebbe hae yer Hallowe’en - Yont, whaur ye’re lyin’ wi’ the lave. - - There’s drink an’ daffin’, sang an’ dance - And ploys and kisses get their chance, - But Lachlan, man, the place I see - Is whaur the auld kist used to be - And the lichts o’ Hallowe’en in France! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[3] Mummers who go from door to door. - -[4] Cabbage-stalks. - - - - -ADAM - - - Ye’re richt weel buskit, yer poke is fu’, - Ye ride i’ yer ain machine; - ’Twould tak a fule to hae words wi’ you - An’ no ken the gowk he’s been. - - At rowp or preachin’ the best ye’ll hae, - This warld or the neist ane’s gear, - The breist[5] o’ the laft on a Sawbath day, - Or a seat by the auctioneer. - - Ye’re no jist auld an’ ye arena young, - But it doesna affec’ the case, - For I’m aye that fear’d o’ a wumman’s tongue - That I’m like to forget her face. - - An’ fowk says “Donal’, ye’re forty past, - I doot she’ll be fifty-three, - But ye maun settle yersel’ at last - That hasna a spare bawbee. - - Oh, youth’s a ploy, but it winna bide - And a body’s gettin’ on-- - What ails ye, man, at a thrifty bride - Wi’ a dandy bit hoose like yon?” - - Them’s wise-like bodies I hae to thank - And mebbe they’re no far wrang; - But whiles ye’ll step frae a creakin’ plank - An’ doon i’ the glaur[6] ye’ll gang! - - It’s warm, thae nichts, i’ the auld King’s Heid; - What better can ye desire - Than a lass to bring ye the dram ye need - An’ yer billies aroond the fire? - - An’ wha is’t redes me to tak’ a wife? - A puckle o’ single men! - No ane, I’m thinkin’, wad risk his life - Wi’ a jaud that he disna ken! - - I’ll wish ye luck an’ a braw guidman, - And weel may ye baith agree, - But I’m no seekin’ ye, Maggie-Ann, - And I doot that he’ll no be me! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[5] The front seat in the gallery. - -[6] Mud. - - - - -THE DAFT BIRD - - - When day is past an’ peace comes doon wi’ gloamin’ - An’ twa by twa the young fowk pass the yett, - Auld stocks like me maun let their thochts content them, - Mindin’ o’ coortin’s that they’ll no forget. - Ye’re no sae far awa the nicht, my Marget, - Tho’ on the brae-heid, past the dyke ye lie, - Whaur ae daft bird is singin’ i’ the kirkyaird - And ae star watches i’ the evenin’ sky. - - Late bird, daft bird, the likes o’ you are bedded, - The daylicht’s deid, it’s hame that ye should be, - Yer voice is naucht to them that canna hear ye; - But sing you on, it isna naucht to me. - Dod, like yersel’, it’s time that I was sleepin’, - Sae lang it is since Marget laid her doon, - And ilka year treids up ahint anither - Like evenin’s ghaist ahint the aifternoon. - - For rest comes slaw to you an’ me, I’m thinkin’, - Oor day’s wark’s surely lang o’ wearin’ through, - The gloamin’s had been wearier an’ langer, - Thae nichts o’ June, late warker, wantin’ you. - I maun hae patience yet, I’ll no be grievin’, - There’s them that disna fail tho’ day be spent, - An’ yon daft bird’s aye singing i’ the kirkyaird-- - Lord, I will bide my time, an’ bide content. - - - - -PRIDE - - - Did iver ye see the like o’ that? - The warld’s fair fashioned to winder at! - Heuch--dinna tell me! Yon’s Fishie Pete - That cried the haddies in Ferry Street - Set up wi’ his coats an’ his grand cigars - In ane o’ they stinkin’ motor-cars! - - I mind the time (an’ it’s no far past) - When he wasna for fleein’ alang sae fast - An’ doon i’ the causey his cairt wad stand - As he roared oot “Haddies!” below his hand; - Ye’d up wi’ yer windy an’ doon he’d loup - Frae the shaft o’ the cairt by the sheltie’s doup[7]. - - Aye, muckle cheenges an’ little sense, - A bawbee’s wut an’ a poond’s pretence! - For there’s him noo wi’ his neb to the sky - I’ yon deil’s machinery swiggit[8] by, - An’ me, that whiles gi’ed him a piece to eat, - Tramps aye to the kirk on my ain twa feet. - - And, nee’bours, mind ye, the warld’s a-gley - Or we couldna see what we’ve seen the day, - Guid fortune’s blate whaur she’s weel desairv’t - The sinner fu’ an’ the godly stairv’t, - An’ fowk like me an’ my auld guidman - Jist wearied, daein’ the best we can! - - I’ve kept my lips an’ my tongue frae guile - An’ kept mysel’ to mysel’ the while; - Agin a’ wastrels I’ve aye been set - And I’m no for seekin’ to thole them yet; - A grand example I’ve been through life, - A righteous liver, a thrifty wife. - - But oh! the he’rt o’ a body bleeds - For favours sclarried[9] on sinfu’ heids. - Wait you a whilie! Ye needna think - They’ll no gang frae him wi’ cairds an’ drink! - They’ll bring nae blessin’, they winna bide, - For the warst sin, nee’bours, is pride, aye, pride! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[7] Croup. - -[8] Swung, whirled. - -[9] Spilt. - - - - -‘KIRRIE’ - - - Comin’ oot frae Kirrie, when the autumn gowd an’ siller - At the hindmaist o’ September month has grips o’ tree an’ shaw, - The mune hung, deaved wi’ sunset, no a spunk o’ pride in till her, - Nae better nor a bogle, till the licht was awa; - An’ the haughs below the Grampains, i’ the evenin’ they were lyin’ - Like a lang-socht Land o’ Promise that the cauld mist couldna - smoor; - An’ tho’ ye didna see it, ye could hear the river cryin’ - If ye stood a while to listen on the road to Kirriemuir. - - There’s an auld wife bides in Kirrie--set her up! a pridefu’ crater-- - And she’s crackin’ aye o’ London an’ the grand fowk ye may see; - O’ the King, an’ syne his palace, till I’m sure I’m like to hate her, - For the mairket-day in Kirrie is the sicht for me. - But ye ken I’m sweir to fash her, an’ it’s best to be agreein’, - For gin ye dinna heed her, then she’s cankered-like an’ soor, - Dod, she tells o’ muckle lairnin’--but I doot the bizzar’s[10] leein’, - For it’s fules wad bide in London when they kent o’ Kirriemuir. - - O, the braw, braw toon o’ Kirrie! What a years that I hae lo’ed it! - And I winna seek to leave it tho’ I’m spared anither score; - I’d be greetin’ like a laddie for the auld reid hooses croodit - Lookin’ down upon the steadin’s and the fields o’ Strathmore. - Ye may speak o’ heavenly mansions, ye may say it wadna grieve ye - When ye quit a world sae bonnie--but I canna jist be sure, - For I’ll hae to wait, I’m thinkin’, or I see if I believe ye, - For my first braid blink o’ Heaven, an’ my last o’ Kirriemuir! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[10] Jade. - - - - -THE END O’T - - - There’s a fine braw thistle that lifts its croon - By the river-bank whaur the ashes stand, - An’ the swirl o’ water comes whisp’rin’ doon - Past birk an’ bramble an’ grazin’ land. - But simmer’s flittit an’ time’s no heedin’ - A feckless lass nor a pridefu’ flow’r; - The dark to hide me’s the grace I’m needin’, - An’ the thistle’s seedin’ - An’ my day’s owre. - - I redd the hoose an’ I meat the hens - (Oh, it’s ill to wark when ye daurna tire!) - An’ what’ll I get when my mither kens - It’s niver a maiden that biggs her fire? - I mind my pray’rs, but I’m feared to say them, - I hide my een, for they’re greetin’ fast, - What though I blind them--for wha wad hae them? - The licht’s ga’en frae them - An’ my day’s past. - - Oh, wha tak’s tent for a fadin’ cheek? - No him, I’se warrant, that gar’d it fade! - There’s little love for a lass to seek - When the coortin’s through an’ the price is paid. - Oh, aince forgotten’s forgotten fairly, - An’ heavy endit what’s licht begun, - But God forgie ye an’ keep ye, Chairlie, - For the nicht’s fa’en airly - An’ my day’s done! - - - - -THE KELPIE - - - I’m feared o’ the road ayont the glen, - I’m sweir to pass the place - Whaur the water’s rinnin’, for a’ fowk ken - There’s a kelpie sits at the fit o’ the den, - And there’s them that’s seen his face. - - But whiles he watches an’ whiles he hides - And whiles, gin na wind manes, - Ye can hear him roarin’ frae whaur he bides - An’ the soond o’ him splashin’ agin the sides - O’ the rocks an’ the muckle stanes. - - When the mune gaes doon at the arn-tree’s back - In a wee, wee weary licht, - My bed-claes up to my lugs I tak’, - For I mind the swirl o’ the water black - An’ the cry i’ the fearsome nicht. - - And lang an’ fell is yon road to me - As I come frae the schule; - I duarna think what I’m like to see - When dark fa’s airly on buss an’ tree - At Martinmas and Yule. - - Aside the crusie[11] my mither reads, - “My bairn,” says she, “ye’ve heard - The Lord is mindfu’ o’ a’ oor needs - An’ His shield an’ buckler’s abune the heids - O’ them that keeps His word.” - - But I’m a laddie that’s no that douce, - An’ fechtin’s a bonnie game; - The dominie’s pawmies[12] are little use, - An’ mony’s the Sawbath I’m rinnin’ loose - When a’body thinks I’m hame! - - Dod, noo we’re nearin’ the shorter days, - It’s cannie I’ll hae to gang, - An’ keep frae fechtin’ an’ sic-like ways, - And no be tearin’ my Sawbath claes - Afore that the nichts grow lang. - - Richt guid an’ couthie I’ll need to be, - (But it’s leein’ to say I’m glad), - I ken there’s troubles that fowk maun dree, - An’ the kelpie’s no like to shift for me, - Sae, gin thae warlocks are fear’d o’ Thee, - Lord, mak’ me a better lad! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[11] Iron oil-lamp. - -[12] Canings. - - - - -BALTIC STREET - - - My dainty lass, lay you the blame - Upon the richtfu’ heid; - ’Twas daft ill-luck that bigg’d yer hame - The wrang side o’ the Tweed. - Ye hae yer tocher a’ complete, - Ye’re bonnie as the rose, - But I was born in Baltic Street, - In Baltic Street, Montrose! - - Lang syne on mony a waefu’ nicht, - Hie owre the sea’s distress, - I’ve seen the great airms o’ the licht - Swing oot frae Scurdyness; - An’ prood, in sunny simmer blinks, - When land-winds rase an’ fell, - I’d flee my draigon[13] on the links - Wi’ callants like mysel’. - - Oh, Baltic Street is cauld an’ bare - An’ mebbe nae sae grand, - But ye’ll feel the smell i’ the caller air - O’ kippers on the land. - ’Twixt kirk an’ street the deid fowk bide - Their feet towards the sea, - Ill nee’bours for a new-made bride, - Gin ye come hame wi’ me. - - The steeple shades the kirkyaird grass, - The seamen’s hidden banes, - A dour-like kirk to an English lass - Wha kens but English lanes; - And when the haar, the winter through, - Creeps blind on close and wa’ - My hame micht get a curse frae you, - Mysel’ get, mebbe, twa. - - I’ll up an’ aff the morn’s morn - To seek some reid-haired queyn, - Bauld-he’rted, strang-nieved,[14] bred an’ born - In this auld toon o’ mine. - And oh! for mair I winna greet, - Gin we hae meal an’ brose - And a but an’ ben in Baltic Street, - In Baltic Street, Montrose! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[13] Fly my kite. - -[14] Strong-fisted. - - - - -BAILIE BRUCE - - - Ye’d winder, when creation’s plan - Seems sae acceptable to man, - And the Creator, in His power, - Made brute an’ bird, an’ fruit an’ flower; - When e’en the wasps that bigg their bike - An’ clocks[15] an’ golachs, an’ the like - O’ a’ yon vairmin has their use, - What gar’d Him fashion Bailie Bruce? - - He couldna thole to see a wean - Wheepin’ his pearie[16] on the green, - Nae sweethe’rts coorted but he saw - Auld Homie’s tail ahint the twa. - In godly wrath he aye wad show - His hate o’ sinfu’ men; but tho’ - The wicked fled afore his face - The guid aye passed them i’ the race. - - Oot frae the foremaist seat at kirk - He roared the psalms like ony stirk, - For gripp’d was he by sic a zeal - As nane but the elect micht feel; - An’ when the kirk-door plate was set, - Wi’ looks o’ pride ye’d ne’er forget, - When puir fowk laid their pennies doon - He’d gi’e his Maker half a croon. - - Weel, whiles oor ancient customs change - An’ fowk accep’ what’s new an’ strange; - Oor decent plate awa was laid - For bonny baggies--English made. - Sawbath cam’ roond; the kirk was in; - The Bailie sat an’ glow’red on sin; - The Elder brocht wi’ reverent feet - His baggie to the foremaist seat. - - In drapp’d the money; Bailie Bruce - Wi’ open hand an’ purse-strings loose - And e’en upliftit, kept his place; - The bag passed on its road o’ grace. - Weel was’t he couldna see the smile - That a’ yon kirk-fu’ had the while - Nor yet the Elder’s twisted mou’ - That wrocht him a’ the journey through! - - For oh! ahint the Bailie’s back - Was done a deed o’ shame to mak’ - His righteous he’rt wi’ anger swell - _Nane gie’d a bodle but himsel’!_ - An’ at the coontin’, plain to see, - The baggie held but ae bawbee! - - * * * * * - - His health noo gars him keep the hoose; - Losh-aye! what ails him, Bailie Bruce? - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[15] Beetles. - -[16] Whipping-top. - - - - -CHARLEWAYN[17] - - (_Yestere’n was Hallowe’en, - To-day is Hallow-day, - It’s nine free nichts to Martinmas, - And then we’ll get away._ - - OLD SONG AMONG ANGUS FARM SERVANTS.) - - - Frae Hallowe’en to Martinmas - There’s little time to fill, - And yet there’s mony a warkin’ lass - Thinks a’ the days stand still. - - Oh, cauld the mornin’ creeps on nicht - Alang the eerie skies, - An’ cauld the blink o’ caun’le-licht - That lets me see to rise. - - For late an’ airly at the fairm - The wark seems niver past, - But a week, come Monday, brings the tairm - When I may flit at last. - - My mither hauds her docters ticht, - My mither’s hoose is sma’, - An’ I niver lo’ed my mither richt - Until I gaed awa. - - But yestere’en was Hallowe’en - When a’ may dance an’ sing; - The auld guidwife shut doon her e’en, - The young anes got their fling; - - Set up, the fiddler wrocht. Below, - The reel swang ilka ane, - But my feet danced oot to meet my joe - By the licht o’ Charlewayn. - - My mither’s hame’s a happy hame - Whaur easy I may lie, - And o’ mysel’ I’m thinkin’ shame, - Sic a feckless queyn am I. - - For, by the licht o’ Charlewayn, - It’s Rab that gar’d me lairn - To see a lover’s lass mair plain - E’en than a mither’s bairn. - - Aye, yestere’en was Hallowe’en, - An’ Martinmas is near; - It’s wae for Martinmas I’ve been - But it’s like to find me here! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[17] Charles’ Wain, the Plough. - - - - -THE MUCKLE MOU’ - - - When ye are auld an’ pitten past, - Ye’ll whiles be sittin’ wi’ a freen’ - And crackin’, as ye hear the blast - Rage i’ the lum, o’ fowk ye’ve seen. - There’s some gangs whingein’,[18] singin’ sma’, - An’ some that taks a baulder tune, - But ae thing’s aye the same wi’ a’-- - Their mou’s owre muckle for their spune. - - Ye’ll see a lad--his hoose the best, - A thrivin’ swine in till his yaird, - His gairden fu’--he winna rest, - He’s wud because he’s no a laird! - He coorts a lass; she’ll tak’ her aith - He isna fit to dicht her shune, - What’s wrang wi’ ane is wrang wi’ baith-- - Their mou’s owre muckle for their spune. - - O’ tinkler-fowk, an’ fowk wi’ means - Ye’ll scarcely hae the time to speak, - Men, wives an’ widdies, lords an’ weans, - The mair they get, the mair they’ll seek. - Ye’d think the vera warld was deav’d - Wi’ them that’s roarin’ for the mune, - Nae maitter what they’ve a’ receiv’d - Their mou’s owre muckle for their spune. - - But when ye’ve lookit mony a year - Upon yersel’ and ither men, - Although to lairn ye’ve whiles been sweir, - There’s twa-three things ye’re like to ken; - Ye winna need to mak’ ado - An’ warstle wi’ the powers abune, - Yer spune’s the measure o’ yer mou’, - Gin ane is wrang, it’s no the spune! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[18] Whining. - - - - -THE GANGEREL - - - It’s ye maun whustle for a breeze - Until the sails be fu’; - They bigg yon ships that ride the seas - To pleasure fowk like you. - - For ye hae siller i’ yer hand - And a’ that gowd can buy, - But weary, in a weary land, - A gangerel-loon am I. - - Ye’ll feel the strang tides lift an’ toss - The scud o’ nor’land faem, - And when ye drap the Southern Cross - It’s a’ roads lead ye hame. - - And ye shall see the shaws o’ broom - Wave on the windy hill, - Alang the strath the hairst-fields toom[19] - And syne the stackyairds fill. - - Ye’ll hear fu’ mony a raittlin’ cairt - On Forfar’s causey-croon,[20] - Wi’ young stirks loupin’ to the Mairt - That roars in Forfar toon. - - O’ nichts, ayont yer snibbet door, - Ye’ll see in changeless band, - Abune Craig Oule, to keep Strathmore, - The stars of Scotland stand. - - But tho’ ye think ye sicht them fine - Gang ben an’ tak’ yer rest, - Frae lands that niver kent their shine - It’s me that sees them best! - - For they shall brak’ their ancient trust, - Shall rise nae mair nor set, - The Sidlaw hills be laid in dust - Afore that I forget. - - Lowse ye the windy-sneck a wheen, - An’ glowre frae ilka airt - Fegs! Ye may see them wi’ yer een-- - _I_ see them wi’ my he’rt! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[19] Empty. - -[20] The middle of the street. - - - - -THE TINKLER’S BALOO - - - Haud yer whisht, my mannie, - Hide yer heid the noo, - There’s a jimp young mune i’ the branches abune - An’ she’s keekin’ at me an’ you. - Near she is to settin’, - Waukin’ she shouldna be, - An’ mebbe she sees i’ the loan by the trees - Owre muckle for you an’ me. - - Dinna cry on Daddie, - Daddie’s by the fairm, - There’s a specklie hen that strays i’ the den - An’ he’s fear’d she may come to hairm. - Thieves is bauld an’ mony, - That’s what guid fowk say, - An’ they’d a’ complain gin the limmer was ta’en - An’ cheughit afore it’s day. - - Sleep, an’ then, come Sawbath, - A feather o’ gray ye’ll get - Wi’ specklies on it to set i’ yer bonnet - An’ gar ye look brawer yet. - Sae hide yer heid, my mannie, - Haud yer whisht, my doo, - For we’ll hae to shift or the sun’s i’ the lift - An’ I’m singin’ baloo, baloo! - - - - -THE BANKS O’ THE ESK - - - Gin I were whaur the rowans hang - Their berried heids aside the river, - I’d hear the water slip alang, - The rowan-leaves abune me shiver; - And winds frae Angus braes wad sail - To blaw me dreams owre peat an’ gale. - - An’ blawn frae youth, thae dreams o’ mine - Wad find me, tho’ the rowans hide me, - Like hoolets gray they’d flit, an’ syne - They’d fauld their wings an’ licht aside me; - And aye the mair content I’d be - The closer that they cam’ to me. - - Aside the Esk I’d lay me doon, - Atween the rowans and its windin’, - An’ tho’ the waters rase to droon - A weary carle, I’d no be mindin’; - For I wad sleep, my rovin’ past, - Upon thae banks o’ dreams at last. - - - - -THE WISE-LIKE CHAP - - - Aye, billies, I’m a wise-like chap, - I dinna smoke nor drink, - And gin I gi’e my poke a slap - Ye’ll hear the siller chink. - My feyther has an aicht-pair[21] fairm - Weel set wi’ byre an’ stack; - There’s mony will obey me - An’ tak’ their pattern frae me, - But Annie winna hae me - An’ my he’rt’s near brak’! - - My Grannie’s saved a bit hersel’, - She’s three-score year an’ ten, - Wha’ll get the profit nane can tell - (An’ yet I think I ken!) - It’s fules wad cross a rich auld wife, - Sae a’ her fleers[22] I tak’, - An’ tho’ it’s like to pay me, - Richt little guid ’twill dae me, - For Annie winna hae me - An’ my he’rt’s near brak’! - - Ye’ll mebbe mind the miller’s loon - That was a fair disgrace; - His auld dune hat was clour’d abune - An’ mill-dust on his face. - The gowk! He gaed awa to fecht - And syne cam’ crippl’t back; - Yestre’en he passed my Grannie - Wi’ his left airm bandig’t cannie-- - But his richt ane happit Annie, - An’ my he’rt’s near brak’! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[21] The size of Angus farms is expressed by the number of horses -required to work them. - -[22] Jibes. - - - - -INVERQUHARITY - - - Aside the Quharity burn - I ken na what I’m seein’ - Wi’ the licht near deein’ - An’ the lang year at the turn; - But the dog that gangs wi’ me - Creeps whingein’ at my knee, - And we baith haud thegither - Like a lad an’ his brither - At the water o’ Quharity. - - Alang the Quharity glen - I mind on warlock’s faces, - I’ the still, dark places - Whaur the trees hae airms like men; - And I ken the beast can see - Yon een that’s watchin’ me, - Whaur the arn-boughs darken - An’ I’m owre fear’d to harken - I’ the glen o’ Quharity. - - By Quharity Castle wa’s - The toor is like a prison, - Or a deid man risen - Amang the birken shaws; - And the sweit upon my bree - Is drappin’ cauld frae me - Till the ill spell’s broken - By the Haly Word spoken - At the wa’s o’ Quharity. - - Alang the Valley o’ Deith - There’ll be mony a warlock wait’n - Wi’ the thrangin’ hosts o’ Sat’n - Till I tak’ my hin’maist breith; - An’ I’m fear’d there winna be - The dog to gang wi’ me - An’ I doot the way is wearier - An’ the movin’ shadows eerier - Than the jaws o’ Quharity. - - But I’ll whisper the Haly Name - For thae list’nin’ lugs to hear me, - An’ the herds o’ Hell’ll fear me - An’ tak’ the road they came; - For the wild dark wings’ll flee - Frae their bield in branch an’ tree-- - Nae mair the black airms thrawin’! - Nae mair the ill sough blawin’! - For my day o’ days is dawin’ - Owre the Castle o’ Quharity! - - - - -FAUR-YE-WEEL - - - As ye come through the Sea-Gate ye’ll find a hoose we ken - Whaur, when a man is drouthy, his drouth an’ he gang ben, - And whiles o’ nichts there’s dancin’ and aye there’s drink by day - And a fiddler-carle sits yonder an’ gars his fiddle play: - “Oh come, ye ancient mariners, - Nae maitter soond or lame, - For tho’ ye gae on hirplin’[23] tae - Ye’ll syne gang dancin’ hame; - The years are slippin’ past ye - Like water past the bows, - _Roond half the warld ye’ve toss’d yer dram but sune ye’ll hae to - lowse._”[24] - The toon is like a picture, the sea is bonnie blue, - The fiddle’s cryin’ aff the shore to captain, mate, an’ crew, - An’ them that’s had for music the swirl o’ gannet’s wings, - The winds that drive frae Denmark, they dootna what it sings: - “Oh come, ye dandy Baltic lads - That sail to Elsinore, - Ye’re newly in, ye’ll surely win - To hae a spree ashore; - Lairn frae the sea, yer maister, - When fortune’s i’ ye’re debt, - _The cauld waves washin’ past the bar tak’ a’ that they can get!_” - - And when the quays are lichtit an’ dark the ocean lies, - The daft mune, like a feckless fule, keeks doon to mock the wise; - Awa’ in quiet closes the fiddle’s voice is heard - Whaur some that should be sleepin’ are listenin’ for its word: - “Sae haste ye noo, ye rovin’ queyns, - An’ gie yer dads the slip, - Tho’ dour auld men sit girnin’ ben - There’s young anes aff the ship, - Come, tak’ yer fill o’ dancin’, - Yer he’rts at hame maun bide, - _For the lad that tak’s a he’rt to sea will drap it owre the side!_” - - And aye the fiddle’s playin’, the auld bow wauks the string, - The auld carle, stampin’ wi’ his fit, gies aye the time a swing; - Gang East, gang West, ye’ll hear it, it lifts ye like a reel: - _It’s niver dumb, an’ the tune sings “Come,” but its name is - Faur-ye-weel!_ - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[23] Limping. - -[24] To give up, to leave off. - - - - -POEMS IN ENGLISH - - - - -A YOUNG MAN’S SONG - - - My girl is true, my girl is sweet, - When in the town we chance to meet - It almost seems to me as though - A rose were growing in the street. - - And if I see her in the lane, - Though winter’s freezing might and main, - I half suspect, in spite of all, - That Spring’s upon us once again. - - When luck is out and things look blue - And folks are up against me too, - There’s naught in that to cast me down - Because she trusts me through and through. - - And at the altar-railings when - My faith and truth I swear, oh then - I’ll pray, “God strike me if I fail-- - So help me! World without end. Amen!” - - - - -THE SHADOWS - - - Boughs of the pine and stars between, - In woods where shadows fill the air, - Oh, who may rest that once has been - A shadow there? - - Sounds of the night and tears between, - The grey owl hooting, dimly heard; - Can footsteps reach those lands unseen, - Or wings of bird? - - Days of the years and worlds between, - Still through the boughs the stars may burn, - The heart may break for lands unseen, - For woods wherein its life has been, - But not return. - - - - -A WINTER PHANTASY - - - The day was all delight, - Chorus and golden tune; - Rides the steep night - The white ship of the moon. - - Now that the night is come - And silence wakes to power, - All that was dumb - Has its triumphal hour. - - My soul, behold a sail - The seas of Heaven upon, - Rise up and hail - That roving galleon. - - High above winter frost - Speed on uncharted ways, - Enraptured, lost, - Past thrall of nights and days. - - Burnt fervent-white with rime, - The blurred earth hangs beneath, - Frost-light sublime, - Frost-tapers lit for death. - - Look down the mists and see - The orchards mazed with snow; - Grey, tangled tree, - Lichen and mistletoe. - - But, ere the dim world falls - Engulfed, upon your track, - Even at Heaven’s walls, - Turn back, turn back! - - And as the miles decrease, - By all that foils regret, - By all that is your peace, - My soul, forget. - - - - -MARSEY TOWN - - - As I came over the Hill of Clayne - Or ever the leaf was brown, - The wind blew light in the pods of broom, - For the gay, gold flower had lost its bloom, - And “O the jewel,” I sang again, - “That’s waiting in Marsey Town!” - - The shadows raced on the sun-swept hill, - And dappled its ancient crown, - The kestrel hovered on wings outspread, - The rabbit slipped through the bracken-bed - And the world beat time as I sang my fill - And travelled to Marsey Town. - - O foolish singer and foolish song! - The lure of a pinchbeck clown - Had thieved my jewel, my heart’s own core, - My goal was gained, but I sang no more, - And I turned me home as the shades grew long - From the steeples of Marsey Town. - - A lad came over the Hill of Clayne - A-singing as he stepped down-- - Aye me! forget what a fool has said, - For I called him “I” but he’s long, long dead-- - Dumb--gone like the sound of his own refrain - And buried in Marsey Town! - - - - -THE SEASONS - - - “Mother, I know Spring bears her gifts - Of young buds scarce unfurled, - For through bare apple-boughs I see - The blue hills of the world; - And the pale daffodils are set - Sharp, in the April light----” - “The gift that Spring has brought to me - Is fight, my son, fight.” - - “And, Mother, on the heels of Spring - The seasons follow hard, - When Summer glorifies the field - And Autumn stacks the yard; - Time was, I watched their gifts unroll, - And scarce could choose the best----” - “The gift that I would have of them - Is rest, my son, rest.” - - “But, Mother, might they grant your boon - And were the conflict done, - O Mother, have you strength to stand----?” - “I would lie down, my son.” - “Where would you look to ease your eyes - When strife with tears had ceas’t? - And whither would your feet be turned----?” - “East, my son, east.” - - -_Printed by Hazell Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury, England_ - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BONNIE JOANN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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