Rough Scan
BOOK XI - SPORT



149 - TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY

WHEN Winter muffles up his cloak,
And binds the mire up like a rock;
When to the lochs the curlers flock,
=Wi' gleesome speed,
Wha will they station at the cock?—
=Tam Samson's dead!

He was the king o' a' the core,
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore;
Or up the rink like Jehu roar
=In time o' need;
But now he lags on Death's hog-score-
=Tam Samson's dead!

Now safe the stately sawmont sail,
And trouts bedropp'd wi crimson hail,
And eels weel kenn'd for souple tail,
=And geds for greed,
Since, dark in Death's fish-creel, we wail
=Tam Samson dead!

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a';
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw;
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw,
=Withouten dread;
Your mortal fae is now awa'—
=Tam Samson's dead!

That waefu' morn be ever mourn'd
Saw him in shootin' graith adorn'd,
While pointers round impatient burn'd,
=Frae couples freed;
But, och! he gaed and ne'er return'd:
=Tam Samson's dead!

=======_Robert Burns_.



150 - BALLADE OF THE TWEED

THE ferox rins in rough Loch Awe,
=A weary cry frae ony toun;
The Spey, that loups o'er linn and fa',
=They praise a' ither streams aboon;
=They boast their braes o' bonny Doon:
Gie _me_ to hear the ringing reel,
=Where shilfas sing and cushats croon
By fair Tweed-side, at Ashiesteel!

There's Ettrick, Meggat, Ail, and a',
=Where trout swim thick in May and June;
Ye'll see them tak in showers o' snaw
=Some blinking, cauldrife April noon:
=Rax ower the palmer and march-broun,
And syne we'll show a bonny creel,
=In spring or simmer, late or soon,
By fair Tweed-side, at Ashiesteel!

There's mony a water, great or sma',
=Gaes singing in his siller tune,
Through glen and heugh, and hope and shaw,
=Beneath the sun-licht or the moon:
=But set us in our fishing-shoon
Between the Caddon-burn and Peel,
=And syne we'll cross the heather broun
By fair Tweed-side, at Ashiesteel!

====_Envoy_

Deil take the dirty, trading loon
=Wad gar the water ca' his wheel,
And drift his dyes and poisons doun
=By fair Tweed-side at Ashiesteel!

=======_Andrew Lang_.



151 - IN PRAISE OF TWEED

LET ither anglers chuse their ain,
=And ither waters tak' the lead;
O' Hielan' streams we covet nane,
=But gie to us the bonnie Tweed!
And gie to us the cheerfu' burn
=That steals into its valley fair—
The streamlets that at ilka turn
=Sae saftly meet an' mingle there.

The lanesome Talla and the Lyne,
=An' Manor wi' its mountain rills,
An' Etterick, whose waters twine
=Wi' Yarrow frae the Forest hills
An' Gala too, and Teviot bright,
=An' mony a stream o' playfu' speed;
Their kindred valleys a' unite
=Amang the braes o' bonnie Tweed.

There's no a hole abune the Crook,
=Nor stane nor gentle swirl aneath,
Nor drumlie rill nor faery brook,
=That daunders thro' the flowery heath,
But ye may fin' a subtle troot,
=A' gleamin' ower wi' starn an' bead,
An' mony a sawmon sooms about
=Below the bields o' bonnie Tweed.

Frae Holylee to Clovenford,
=A chancier bit ye canna hae
So gin ye tak' an angler's word,
=Ye'd through the whins an' ower the brae.
An' work awa wi' cunnin' hand
=Yer birzy hackles, black and reid;
The saft sough o' a slender wand
=Is meetest music for the Tweed!

=======_Thomas Tod Stoddart_.



152 - FISHER JAMIE

PUIR Jamie's killed.  A better lad
=Ye wadna find to busk a flee
Or burn a pule or wield a gad
=Frae Berwick to the Clints o' Dee.

And noo he's in a happier land—
=It's Gospel truith and Gospel law
That Heaven's yett maun open stand
=To folk that for their country fa'.

But Jamie will be ill to mate;
=He lo'ed nae music, kenned nae tunes
Except the sang o' Tweed in spate,
=Or Talla loupin' ower its linns.

I sair misdoot that Jamie's heid
=A croun o' gowd will never please;
He liked a kep o' dacent tweed
=Whaur he could stick his casts o' flees.

If Heaven is a' that man can dream
=And a' that honest herts can wish,
It maun provide some muirland stream,
=For Jamie dreamed o' nocht but fish.

And weel I wot he'll up and speir
=In his bit blate and canty way,
Wi' kind Apostles standin' near
=Whae in their time were fishers tae.

He'll offer back his gowden croun
=And in its place a rod he'll seek,
And bashfu'-like his herp lay doun
=And speir a leister and a cleek.

For Jims had aye a poachin' whim;
=He'll sune grow tired, wi' lawfu' flee
Made frae the wings o' cherubim
=O' castin' ower the Crystal Sea.

I picter him at gloamin' tide
=Steekin' the backdoor o' his hame
And hastin' to the waterside
=To play again the auld auld game;

And syne wi' saumon on his back
=Catch't clean against the Heavenly law,
And Heavenly byliffs on his track,
=Gaun linkin' doun some Heavenly shaw.

=======_John Buchan_.



153 - JUVENIS AND PISCATOR

_Juv_.=Canny Fisher Jamie, comin' hame at e'en,
=Canny Fisher Jamie, whaur hae ye been?
_Pisc_.=Mony lang miles, laddie, ower the Kips sae green.
_Juv_.=Fishin' Leithen Water?
_Pisc_.=Nay, laddie, nay,
=Just a wee burnie rinnin' doun a brae,
=Fishin' a wee burnie nae bigger than a sheugh.
_Juv_.=Gat ye mony troots, Jamie?
_Pisc_.=I gat eneugh—
=Eneugh to buy my baccy, snuff, and pickle tea,
=And lea' me tippence for a gill, and that's eneugh for me.



154 - POACHING _IN EXCELSIS_

=("Two men were fined £120 apiece for poaching a white rhinoceros." — _South African Press_.)

I'VE poached a pickle paitricks when the leaves were turnin' sere,
I've poached a twa-three hares an' grouse, an' mebbe whiles a deer,
But ou, it seems an unco thing, an' jist a wee mysterious,
Hoo any mortal could contrive tae poach a rhinocerious.

I've crackit wi' the keeper, pockets packed wi' pheasants' eggs,
An'a ten-pun' saumon hangin' doun in baith my trouser legs,
But eh, I doot effects wud be a wee thing deleterious
Gin ye shuld stow intil yer breeks a brace o' rhinocerious.

I mind hoo me an' Wullie shot a Royal in Braemar,
An' brocht him doun tae Athol by the licht o' mune an' star.
An' eh, Sirs! but the canny beast contrived tae fash an' weary us—
Yet staigs maun be but bairn's play beside a rhinocerious.

I thocht I kent o' poachin' jist as muckle's ither men,
But there is still a twa-three things I doot I dinna ken;
An' noo I cannot rest, my brain is growin' that deleerious
Tae win awa' tae Africa an' poach a rhinocerious.

=======_G.K. Menzies_.



155 - A SONG OF LIFE AND GOLF

THE thing they ca' the stimy o't,
=I find it ilka where!
Ye 'maist lie deid—an unco shot—
=Anither's ba' is there!
Ye canna win into the hole,
=However gleg ye be,
And aye, where'er ma ba' may roll,
=Some limmer stimies me!

==_Chorus_—
===Somebody stimying me,
====Somebody stimying me,
===The grass may grow, the ba' may row
====Some limmer stimies me!

I lo'ed a lass, a bonny lass,
=Her lips an' locks were reid;
Intil her heart I coüldna pass:
=Anither man lay deid!
He cam' atween me an' her heart,
=I turned wi' tearfu' e'e;
I couldna loft him, I maun part,
=The limmer stimied 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 stimied me!

It's aye the same in life an' gowf;
=I'm stimied, late an' ear';
This world is but a weary howf,
=I'd fain be itherwhere.
But whan auld deith wad hole ma corp,
=As sure as deith ye'll see
Some coof has played the moudiewarp,
=Rin in, an' stimied me!

==_Chorus_ (if thought desirable).

=======_Andrew Lang_.