Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus Part 2

THE TOD

There's a tod aye blinkin' when the nicht comes doon, Blinkin' wi' his lang een an' keekin' roond an' roon', Creepin' by the fairmyaird when gloamin' is to fa', And syne there'll be a chicken or a deuk awa'-- Aye, when the guidwife rises, there's a deuk awa'!

There's a la.s.s sits greetin' ben the hoose at hame, For when the guidwife's cankered she gie's her aye the blame, An' sair the la.s.sie's sabbin' an' fast the tears fa', For the guidwife's tint her bonnie hen an' it's awa'-- Aye, she's no sae easy dealt wi' when her gear's awa'!

There's a lad aye roamin' when the day gets late, A lang-leggit deevil wi' his hand upon the gate, And aye the guidwife cries to him to gar the toddie fa', For she canna thole to let her deuks an' hens awa'-- Aye, the muckle bubbly-jock himsel' is ca'd awa'!

The laddie saw the tod gang by an' killed him wi' a stane And the bonnie la.s.s that grat sae sair she sabs nae mair her lane, But the guidwife's no content.i.t yet, her like ye never saw!

Cries she--"This time it is the la.s.s, an' _she's_ awa'!

Aye, yon laddie's waur nor ony tod, for Bell's awa'!"

THE BLIND SHEPHERD

The land is white, an' far awa'

Abune ae bush an' tree Nae fit is movin' i' the snaw On the hills I canna see; For the sun may shine an' the darkness fa', But aye it's nicht to me.

I hear the whaup on windy days Cry up amang the peat Whaur, on the road that speels the braes, I've heard my ain sheep's feet, An' the bonnie lambs wi' their canny ways An' the silly yowes that bleat.

But noo wi' them I mauna' be, An' by the fire I bide, To sit and listen patiently For a fit on the great hillside, A fit that'll come to the door for me Doon through the pasture wide,

Maybe I'll hear the baa'in' flocks Ae nicht when time seems lang, An' ken there's a step on the scattered rocks The fleggit sheep amang, An' a voice that cries an' a hand that knocks To bid me rise an' gang.

Then to the hills I'll lift my een Nae matter tho' they're blind, For Ane will treid the stanes between And I will walk behind, Till up, far up i' the midnicht keen The licht o' Heaven I'll find.

An' maybe, when I'm up the hill An' stand abune the steep, I'll turn aince mair to look my fill On my ain auld flock o' sheep, An' I'll leave them lyin' sae white an' still On the quiet braes asleep.

THE DOO'UCOT UP THE BRAES

Beside the doo'cot up the braes The fields slope doon frae me, An fine's the glint on blawin' days O' the bonnie plains o' sea.

Below's my mither's hoosie sma', The smiddy by the byre Whaur aye my feyther dings awa'

And my brither blaws the fire.

For Lachlan lo'es the smiddy's reek, An' Geordie's but a fule Wha' drives the plough his breid to seek, And Rob's to teach the schule;

He'll haver roond the schulehoose wa's, And ring the schulehoose bell, He'll skelp the scholars wi' the tawse (I'd like that fine mysel'!)

They're easy pleased, my brithers three-- I hate the smiddy's lowe, A weary dominie I'd be, An' I canna thole the plough.

But by the doo'cot up the braes There's nane frae me can steal The blue sea an' the ocean haze An' the ships I like sae weel.

The brigs ride oot past Ferryden Ahint the girnin' tugs, And the la.s.ses wave to the Baltic men Wi' the gowd rings i' their lugs.

My mither's sweir to let me gang.

My feyther gi'es me blame, But youth is sair and life is lang When yer he'rt's sae far frae hame.

But i' the doo'cot up the braes, When a'tumn nichts are mirk, I've hid my pennies an' my claes An' the Buik I read at kirk,

An' come ae nicht when a' fowks sleep, I'll lift them whaur they lie, An' to the harbour-side I'll creep I' the dim licht o' the sky;

An' when the eastern blink grows wide, An' dark still smoors the west, A Baltic brig will tak' the tide Wi' a lad that canna rest!

LOGIE KIRK

O Logie Kirk amang the braes, I'm thinkin' o' the merry days Afore I trod thae weary ways That led me far frae Logie!

Fine do I mind when I was young Abune thy graves the mavis sung An' ilka birdie had a tongue To ca' me back to Logie.

O Logie Kirk, tho' aye the same The burn sings ae remembered name, There's ne'er a voice to cry "Come hame To bonnie Bess at Logie!"

Far, far awa' the years decline That took the la.s.sie wha was mine An' laid her sleepin' lang, lang syne Amang the braes at Logie.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE DITCH

Aweel, I'm couped. But wha' could tell The road wad rin sae sair?

I couldna gang yon pace mysel', An' I winna try nae mair!

There's them wad c.o.o.nsel me to stan', But this is what I say: _When Natur's forces fecht wi' man,_ _Dod, he maun just give way!_

If man's nae framed to lift his fit Agin' a nat'ral law, I winna' lift my heid, for it Wad dae nae guid ava'.

Puir worms are we; the poo'pit rings Ilk Sawbath wi' the same, Gin airth's the place for sic-like things, I'm no sae far frae hame!

Yon's guid plain raes'nin'; an' forby, This pairish has nae sense, There's mony traiv'lin wad deny Natur and Providence;

For loud an' bauld the leears wage On men like me their war, Elected saints to thole their rage Is what they're seekin' for.

But tho' a man wha's drink's his tea Their malice maun despise, It's no for naething, div ye see, That I'm sae sweir to rise!