Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus Part 3

THE LOST LICHT

(A PERTHSHIRE LEGEND)

The weary, weary days gang by, The weary nichts they fa', I mauna rest, I canna lie Since my ain bairn's awa'.

The soughing o' the springtide breeze Abune her heid blaws sweet, There's nests amang the kirkyaird trees And gowans at her feet.

She gae'd awa' when winds were hie, When the deein' year was cauld, An noo the young year seems to me A waur ane nor the auld.

And, bedded, 'twixt the nicht an' day, Yest're'en, I couldna bide For thinkin', thinkin' as I lay O' the wean that lies outside.

O, mickle licht to me was gie'n To reach my bairn's abode, But heaven micht blast a mither's een And her feet wad find the road.

The kirkyaird loan alang the brae Was choked wi' brier and whin, A' i' the dark the stanes were grey As wraiths when I gae'd in.

The wind cried frae the western airt Like warlock tongues at strife, But the hand o' fear hauds aff the he'rt That's lost its care for life.

I sat me lang upon the green, A stanethraw frae the kirk, And syne a licht shone dim between The shaws o' yew and birk.

'Twas na the wildfire's flame that played Alang the kirkyaird land, It was a band o' bairns that gae'd Wi' lichts in till their hand.

O white they cam', yon babie thrang, A' silent o'er the sod; Ye couldna hear their feet amang The graves, sae saft they trod.

And aye the can'les flickered pale Below the darkened sky, But the licht was like a broken trail When the third wee bairn gae'd by.

For whaur the can'le-flame should be Was naither blink nor shine-- The bairnie turned its face to me An' I kent that it was mine.

An' O! my broken he'rt was sair, I cried, "My ain! my doo'!

For a' thae weans the licht burns fair, But it winna' burn for you!"

She smiled to me, my little Jean, Said she, "The dule and pain, O mither! frae your waefu' een They strike on me again:

"For ither babes the flame leaps bricht And fair and braw appears, But I canna keep my bonnie licht, For it's droukit wi' your tears!"

There blew across my outstreeked hand The white mist o' her sark, But I couldna reach yon babie band For it faded i' the dark.

My ain, my dear, your licht shall burn Although my een grow blind, Although they twa to saut should turn Wi' the tears that lie behind.

O Jeanie, on my bended knee I'll pray I may forget, My grief is a' that's left to me, But there's something dearer yet!

THE LAD I' THE MUNE

I

O gin I lived i' the gowden mune Like the mannie that smiles at me, I'd sit a' nicht in my hoose abune An the wee-bit stars they wad ken me sune, For I'd sup my brose wi' a gowden spune And they wad come out to see!

II

For weel I ken that the mune's his ain And he is the maister there; A' nicht he's lauchin', for, fegs, there's nane To draw the blind on his windy-pane And tak' an' bed him, to lie his lane And pleasure himsel' nae mair.

III

Says I to Grannie, "Keek up the glen Abune by the rodden tree, There's a braw lad 'yont i' the mune, ye ken."

Says she, "Awa' wi' ye, bairn, gang ben, For noo it's little I fash wi' men An' it's less that they fash wi' me!"

IV

When I'm as big as the tinkler-man That sings i' the loan a' day, I'll bide wi' him i' the tinkler-van Wi' a wee-bit pot an' a wee-bit pan; But I'll no tell Grannie my bonnie plan, For I dinna ken what she'll say.

V

And, nicht by nicht, we will a' convene And we'll be a cantie three; We'll lauch an' crack i' the loanin' green, The kindest billies that ever was seen, The tinkler-man wi' his twinklin' een And the lad i' the mune an' me!

THE GOWK

I see the Gowk an' the Gowk sees me Beside a berry-bush by the aipple-tree.

_Old Scots Rhyme_.

'Tib, my auntie's a deil to wark, Has me risin' 'afore the sun; Aince her heid is abune her sark Then the clash o' her tongue's begun!

Warslin', steerin' wi' hens an' swine, Naucht kens she o' a freend o' mine-- But the Gowk that bides i' the woods o' Dun He kens him fine!

Past the yaird an' ahint the stye, O the aipples grow bonnilie!

Tib, my auntie, she canna' spy Wha comes creepin' to kep wi' me.

Aye! she'd sort him, for, dod, she's fell!

Whisht nou, Jimmie, an' hide yersel'

An' the wice-like bird i' the aipple-tree He winna' tell!

Aprile-month, or the aipples flower, Tib, my auntie, will rage an' ca'; Jimmie lad, she may rin an' glower-- What care I? We'll be far awa'!

Let her seek me the leelang day, Wha's to tell her the road we'll gae?

For the cannie Gowk, tho' he kens it a', He winna' say!

THE JACOBITE La.s.s

My love stood at the loanin' side An' held me by the hand, The bonniest lad that e'er did bide In a' this waefu' land-- There's but ae bonnier to be seen Frae Pentland to the sea, And for his sake but yestre'en I sent my love frae me.