Andrew Lang
AN AULD SANG
1750
Oh, it's hame, hame, hame,
An it's hame I wadna be,
Till the Lord ca's King James
To his ain countrie;
Bids the wind blaw frae France,
Till the Firth keps the faem,
An Loch Garry an Lochiel
Bring Prince Chairlie hame.
Mey the lads Prince Chairlie led
That wis hard on Willie's track,
When frae Laffen field he fled,
Wi the cleymore at his back;
Mey they stand on Scottish syle
When the White Rose bears the gree,
An the Lord ca's the King
To his ain countrie!
Bid the seas arise an stand
Like wa's on ilka side,
Till oor Hieland lad pass throu
Wi Jehovah for his guide.
Dry up the river Forth,
As Thoo did the Reid Sea,
When Israel cam hame
To his ain countrie.
BALLADE O THE TWEED
The ferox rins in ruch Loch Awe,
A weary cry frae ony toun;
The Spey, that lowps o'er linn an fa',
They praise a' ither streams abuin;
They boast their braes o' bonny Doon:
Gie me to hear the ringin reel,
Where shilfas sing an cushats cruin
Bi fair Tweedside, at Ashiesteel!
There's Ettrick, Meggat, Ail, an a',
Where troot sooms thick in Mey an June;
Ye'll see them tak in shouers o snaw
Some blinndin, cauldrife Aprile nuin:
Rax ower the palmer an mairch-broun,
An syne we'll show a bonny creel,
In spring or simmer, late or suin,
Bi fair Tweedside, at Ashiesteel!
There's mony a watter, great or sma',
Gaes singin in his siller tune,
Throu glen an heuch, an hope an shaw,
Beneath the sunlicht or the muin:
But set us in oor fishin-shuin
Atween the Caddon-burn an Peel,
An syne we'll cross the heather broun
Bi fair Tweedside, at Ashiesteel!
Envoy
Deil tak the dirty, tradin loon
Wad gar the watter ca' his wheel,
An drift his dyes an pizens doun
Bi fair Tweedside at Ashiesteel!
A SANG O LIFE AN GOWF
The thing they ca' the stymie o't,
I finnd it ilka whare!
Ye ‘maist lie deid--an unco shot--
Anither's ba' is thare!
Ye canna win into the hole,
Houever gleg ye be,
An aye, whare'er ma ba' mey rowe,
Some limmer stymies me!
Chorus
Somebody stymyin me,
Somebody stymyin me,
The gress mey growe, the ba' mey row,
Some limmer stymies me!
I lo'ed a lass, a bonny lass,
Her lips an locks wis reid;
Intil her hert I couldna pass:
Anither man lay deid!
He cam atween me an her hert,
I turned wi teirfu ee;
I couldna loft him, I maun pairt,
The limmer stymied me!
I socht a kirk, a bonny kirk,
Wi teind, an glebe, an a';
A bonny yaird to feed a stirk,
An links to ca' the ba'!
Anither lad he cam an fleeched--
A convartit U.P.—
An a' in vain ma best I preached,
That limmer stymied me!
It's aye the same in life an gowf;
I'm stymied, late an ear';
This warld is but a weary howf,
I'd fain be itherwhare.
But whan auld daith wad hole ma corp.
As shuir as daith ye'll see
Some cuif haes played the moudiewarp,
Rin in, an stymied me!
Chorus (if thocht desirable).