Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus Part 6

Yet rest, my son; our souls are those Nor time nor death can part, And lie you proudly, folded close To France's deathless heart.

The whole of the poems under the heading In Scots appeared in Country Life. Of the others, one or two have appeared in The Cornhill or The Outlook. They are all reprinted by kind permission of the respective editors.

CONTENTS

IN SCOTS

JOCK, TO THE FIRST ARMY THE TWA WEELUMS THE FIELD BY THE LIRK O' THE HILL MONTROSE THE ROAD TO MARYKIRK KIRSTY'S OPINION THE BRIG THE KIRK BESIDE THE SANDS GLORY THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE A CHANGE O' DEILS REJECTED THE LAST O' THE TINKLER

IN ENGLISH

FRINGFORD BROOK PRISON PRESAGE THE BIRD IN THE VALLEY BACK TO THE LAND THE SCARLET LILIES FROSTBOUND ARMED "THE HAPPY WARRIOR"

UNITY

IN SCOTS

JOCK, TO THE FIRST ARMY

O Rab an' Dave an' rantin' Jim, The geans were turnin' reid When Scotland saw yer line grow dim, Wi' the pipers at its heid; Noo, i' yon warld we dinna ken, Like strangers ye maun gang-- _"We've sic a wale[1] o' Angus men_ _That we canna weary lang."_

An' little Wat--my brither Wat-- Man, are ye aye the same?

Or is yon sma' white hoose forgot Doon by the strath at hame?

An' div' ye mind foo aft we trod The Isla's banks before?-- --"_My place is wi' the Hosts o' G.o.d,_ _But I mind me o' Strathmore._"

It's daith comes skirling through the sky, Below there's naucht but pain, We canna see whaur deid men lie For the drivin' o' the rain; Ye a' hae pa.s.sed frae fear an' doot.

Ye're far frae airthly ill-- --"_We're near, we're here, my wee recruit,_ _An' we fecht for Scotland still._"

[1] Choice.

THE TWA WEELUMS

I'm Sairgeant Weelum Henderson frae Pairth, That's wha I am!

There's jist ae bluidy regiment on airth That's worth a d.a.m.n; An' gin the bonniest fechter o' the lot Ye seek to see, Him that's the best--_whaur ilka man's a Scot_-- Speir you at me!

Gin there's a hash o' Gairmans pitten oot By aichts an' tens, That Wully Henderson's been thereaboot A'body kens.

Fegs-aye! Yon Weelum that's in Gairmanie, He hadna reckoned Wi' Sairgeant Weelum Henderson, an' wi'

The Forty-Second!

Yon day we licht.i.t on the sh.o.r.es o' France, The la.s.sies standin'

Trod ilk on ither's taes to get the chance To see us landin'; The besoms! O they smiled to me--an' yet They couldna' help it, (Mysel', I just was thinkin' foo we'd get The Gairmans skelpit.)

I'm wearied wi' them, for it's aye the same Whaure'er we gang, Oor Captain thinks we've got his een to blame, But, man! he's wrang; I winna say he's no as smairt a lad As ye micht see Atween twa Sawbaths--aye, he's no sae bad, But he's no me!

Weel, let the limmers bide; their bonnie lips Are fine an' reid; But me an' Weelum's got to get to grips Afore we're deid; An' gin he thinks he hasn't met his match He'll sune be wiser.

Here's to mysel'! Here's to the auld Black Watch!

An' d.a.m.n the Kaiser!

THE FIELD BY THE LIRK O' THE HILL

Daytime an' nicht, Sun, wind an' rain; The lang, cauld licht O' the spring months again.

The yaird's a' weed, An' the fairm's a' still-- Wha'll sow the seed I' the field by the lirk o' the hill?

Prood maun ye lie, Prood did ye gang; Auld, auld am I, But O! life's lang!

Gaists i' the air, Whaups cryin' shrill, An' you nae mair I' the field by the lirk o' the hill-- Aye, bairn, nae mair, nae mair, I' the field by the lirk o' the hill!

MONTROSE

Gin I should fa', Lord, by ony chance, And they howms o' France Haud me for guid an' a'; And gin I gang to Thee, Lord, dinna blame, But oh! tak' tent, tak' tent o' an Angus lad like me An' let me hame!

I winna seek to bide Awa owre lang, Gin but Ye'll let me gang Back to yon rowin' tide Whaur aye Montrose--my ain-- Sits like a queen, The Esk ae side, ae side the sea whaur she's set her lane On the bents between.

I'll hear the bar Loupin' in its place, An' see the steeple's face Dim i' the creepin' haar;[2]

And the toon-clock's sang Will cry through the weit, And the coal-bells ring, aye ring, on the cairts as they gang I' the drookit street.

Heaven's hosts are glad, Heaven's hames are bricht, And in yon streets o' licht Walks mony an Angus lad; But my he'rt's aye back Whaur my ain toon stands, And the steeple's shade is laid when the tide's at the slack On the lang sands.

[2] Sea-fog.

THE ROAD TO MARYKIRK

To Marykirk ye'll set ye forth, An' whustle as ye step alang, An' aye the Grampians i' the North Are glow'rin' on ye as ye gang.