A whiff o' the Doric

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

Margaret McBride

WHIFF O* THE DORIC.

A Whiff o' the Doric

BY

GEORGE P. DUNBAR
(" STONEYWOOD ")

Author of "A Guff o* Peat Reek"

ABERDEEN: D. WYLLIE & SON
247 UNION STREET

1922

' To a* the hamely, couthie fowk
Wha lo*e their mither tongue."

NOTE.

SOME of these verses appeared originally
in the " People'* Journal," and are
included by kind permission of the
Proprietors. A number of them appeared
in the "Aberdeen Daily Journal" and
" Evening Express," and several appear
for the first time.

CONTENTS.

Page
Foreword

The Fleggin o' Droughty Tarn 11

St. Andrew's Nicht 14

The Loupin' Troot ... ... ... ... ... 16

Address to the Aul' Brig o' Balgownie 19

The Roupin' o' Kirsty's Coo ... ... ... 21

TheNaitral ... 24

A Rantin Halloween 27

The Cantie Aul' Carle 30

The Kitchie Deem 32

Aul' EH 35

The Bam Dance ... ... ... ... ... 37

The Spaewife 39

The Deid Robin 41

Fair fa' the Mom 43

To a Whin Bloom 44

The Hairst Meen 46

The Haunted Smiddy 48

The Hyowin o' the Neeps 51

The Coortin o' Blythe Betty Haws 52

The Aul' Drover 54

There never Was sic a Mfneer ... ... ... 56

The Scatter o' Life 58

.At the fit o' Bennachie 60

8 Contents

Page

An Old-world Garden of Roses ... ... ... 62

April 65

The Lass Wi' the AuV Silken Goon 66

A Roomer's Sang ... ... ... ... ... 68

Spring o' the 'Ear 69J

The Lass that Milks the Coo 70

Dreepin' an' Draggled an' a' ... ... ... 72

The Bonnie Stibble Lea ... ... ... ... 73

A Sang o' the Heather Hills ... 74

Fair fa's the Gloamin' ... ... ... ... 75

The HoWes o' Bucksbum ... ... ... ... 76-

O, Come wi' me a-rovin' ... ... ... ... 78-

The Aul' Gean Tree 80

O, ken ye the Lassie I lo'e ... ... ... ... 82

Roses 83

The Bonnie Braes o' Cothal ... ... ... 84

The Liltin' Lass ... ... ... ... ... 86

By Urie Water 87

O, Caul' Blaws the Win' 89

The Wee Bit Lass 90

In the Howe o' Geerie 92

The Gowd o' the Laverock Braes 93

A Wee Bit Drappie, O 95-

When Gloamin Creeps Doon 96

The Lassie oWer the Lea 97

In some wee Thackit Hoose 99

The Lan o' Logic, O, 100>

FOREWORD.

TO the poems of Mr. Dunbar no introduction is necessary
in this part of the country. " Stoneywood is a
familiar nom de plume in several newspapers, and a previous
volume of verse, " A Guff o' Peat Reek," in no wise
belied its title, for the edition vanished swiftly and easily,
like a wisp of peat smoke. Copies are now unobtainable,
and a like good fortune should attend the present collection.
The Doric to-day, one is reluctantly compelled to fear, is
in a condition far from robust. Vernacular writing in the
strict and traditional dialect has tended to lose flexibility,
and to present itself as something in our world but not of
it. as an anachronism, as a curiosity; and its effect is not
to revivify the Scots tongue. But verse in the easy current
speech of the people, verse such as Mr. Dunbar writes
happily, brightly, and with facility, finds at once its ready
audience. It does not seek after words and phrases that
have fallen into disuse, nor does it hanker after any flourish
or ornament which is not in keeping with its own fresh and
natural simplicity. To the country people the faithful
pictures drawn in the poems which follow will be a welcome
and striking reflection of a style of life that is fast disappearing,
while the songs — Mr. Dunbar's especial strength — are
frequently melodious with that quiet, almost plaintive melody
which goes straight to the heart to cheer and refresh it.
Principally because ** Stoneywood " has looked at his
world and knows his nation and because he shuns all the
devious paths which lead away from the true, unaffected,
human spirit of the Doric, these poems fulfil those high hopes
which inspire so many writers as they murmur their
valedictory, " Go, little book."

A. K.
Aberdeen.

A WHIFF O' THE DORIC.

A sough o' the caller moorland,
A breath o' the hills o' hame,

The sang o' a wimplin' bumie,
Leal he'rts a' lo'e the same.

The guff o' a murlin peat fire,

The lilt o' the lao'rock sweet,
An' a whiff o' the dear aul' doric
' my happiness complete.

A Whiff o' the Doric.

THE FLEGGIN' O' DROUTHY TAM.

[""HE nicht wis dark, an* Tarn wis fou, an* on his
••• hamewith wye,

An* aft he gied a muckle rift, an* fyles a muckle sigh;
He'd been faur wine wis rosy reid, an* stoups o* barley

bree
Hed gart him crack his thooms at care, an* lauch wi*

rantin* glee.
Anither stoup ! " wis a* the cry; " come, jist anither

yet ! "

Noo Tam wid raither rowe than rin, an* scarce could haud
a fit.

He waunnert ower the breemy brae, an* steytert doon the

howe,

An* nearhan* cam* tae tine himsel* faur boggy rashes growe.
He crossed the briggie ower the burn upon his han's an*

knees ;

It teen a fyle, for aft he stopped tae gie himsel* a reeze.
' Ye're deein* fine noo, Tam," said he. " Hoot ! canny

man, tak* care,
Or, haith, ye'll get the weetest sark ye've hed sin* Aikey

Fair."

A weety mist cam* trailin* by, an* queeled him wi*

its breath.
Tam shuddered like a nakit bairn, an* thocht it wis a

wraith.

12 A Whiff o the Doric

The sang wis frozen in his mou*, the hair steid on his heid,
An* caul' an' stiff in ilky vein wis ilky drap o' bleed;
His gashelt teeth were dirlin' like the clappers o* a mull,
An* weet aneth his bonnet ran the sweat upon his skull.

A shape raise fae the lang, weet girss — twa glowerin',

fiery een
Set Tarn's knees wabblin' like a deuk fin howd'rin' ower

the green;
His dwebble legs boo't like a rash, ower on his wime he

fell,
An* bored his nose amo* the yird, an* nearhan* smored

himsel*.
" Oh, Lord ! " he groaned, " Oh, Lord, or deil, fatever

ye may be,
I pray ye gie me mercy, sirs — haud aff yer han's fae me."

" I hinna been a kirk-gyaun chiel, bit noo I'm gyaun tae

men',

An* ilky Sunday i* the kirk ye'll see me steppin* ben;
I'll throw nae mair at pitch an' toss; I'll burn my pack o*

cairts,

An' cast nae mair a winnin* e'e upon the queen o* hairts.
Oh, Lord, I've been a wicket deil, but gin ye'll lat me aff,
I'll be as hairmless efterhin as ony sookin* cauf."

I'll never lip the drink again — at least," said wily Tam,
" Unless an* antrin neeper war tae offer me a dram."
The shape here gied an angry grumph ; Tam gied a

backward dird;

' Weel, weel," he roared, " I winna hae't — noo, nae
anither wird;

A Whiff o' the Doric 13

There's nocht'll weet my thrapple noo, bit water a* my

days;
Oh, dear — Oh, deil — kind, cantie deil " — an' Tarn begood

tae f raize.

*' Oh, awfu' Presence," blubbert Tarn, " jist gie's anither

chance,

I'll never kiss a quine again, nor hooch anither dance;
I'll lock the chaumer door at nine, an' bed mysel' gin ten,
An' at the gweed byeuk ilky nicht a hale roon *oor I'll

spen*;

An", oh, dear deil, or fat ye be, I've naething mair tae say,
An* gin ye binna gyaun tae spare, be swuppert than, an'

slay."

Noo, like a lickit littlan, Tam lay sabbin' a' his micht,
An* closer cam' the creepin' mist, an* darker grew the nicht;
Tam aft hed sawn his royt wild aits, an* noo he hed tae

reap,

Bit lang afore the mornin* he wis snorin* soun* asleep;
An* there amo* the weety girss he spent nicht *s mirkest oors,
An* kent nae o* the eerie spell o* midnicht's witchin* pooers.

The shape that lang hed steid ower Tam gaed lowin*

thro we the dark,
An' fin the mornin' cam' the dyow sat weet on Tarn's fite

sark;

He ca'd the yird oot o* his een, an* clawed his raivelt heid,
An' leuch tae fin* himsel' alive instead o' lyin* deid.
But, oh, frail mortals, ha'e a care, lest, -fin ye're geylies

fou,
ife Tam, ye grocel latch, an' pray for mercy fae a coo.

14 A Whiff o the Doric

ST. ANDREW'S NIGHT.

WHEN bauld St. Andrew's nicht cam' roon
A core foregethered i' the toon
Tae hae a rant or lilt a tune,
An' teem a jovial jorum.

They suppit kail an' gweed kail brose,
Whilk needs nae praise in rhyme or prose,
Till faces low't like reidest rose,
Or kaim o' cockalorum.

Comes cock-a-leekie — gweedly fairin',
An' haddies sweet, an' caller herrin',
There was eneuch for a', an* sparin,'
As fest as thrapples store 'em.

The swuppert baad that mony a morn
Had laucht the racin' win' tae scorn,
In maamy bree noo did adorn
Ilk platter, thick as stoorum.

Syne cam' the haggis, het an' reekin',
Its spicy guff ilk nose was seekin*,
An* nae a tongue had room for speakin*
Till nippies swack did score 'em.

The rossen breist o* some fat nowt
That aft 'mang juicy girss did rowt,
The deil a ane o* them wad flout,
But scowft what was afore *em.

A Whiff o' the Done 15

Noo sheep's held roon the table creeps,
Alang wi' birsled tatties, neeps,
An' whang o' ither stuff in heaps;

Some winnert whaur they'd store 'em.

Wi' feesant here, an* peertricks there,
Stoot mealie puddens an' tae spare,
Ye wad "a* thocht some had nae ser',
Sae he'rty they did lower 'em.

Neist rich plum duff an' aipple tairt,
An* " trumlin* tarn " sae sweetly ser't
Gart ilka chiel pray tae be spare *t
Tae form the happy quorum.

Some noo made wye their teeth tae pyke,
Some crackit nilts an' jist sic like,
While tongues were bizzin' like a byke,
Wi* naething noo tae bore *em.

Wi* sang an* news the *oors sped by,
While pleasure beamed in ilka eye,
An' care gaed wannerin' wi' a sigh
Ayont aul' Cairngorum.

A deoch-an-dorris, nane may doot,
Was quaff 't afore they daunert oot,
Whaur shone the meen's sharp-nibbit snoot;
Some swore they saw a score o' 'em.

An* so wi* sang an* he'rtsome cheer,
Wi' auld acquaintance aye sae dear,
They heild St. Andrew's nicht, this 'ear,
As ithers did afore 'em.

16 A Whiff o' the Doric

THE LOUPIN' TROOT.

IT loupit in the mornin', an' it loupit on till nicht,
An* its glintin', silv'ry wymie was a bonnie, bonnie

sicht;

It micht hae been a fairy, or a kelpie, or a sprite,
As it loupit in the sunlicht makin' rings o* sheer delight.

The bairnies steid an* watched it wi* their fingers in their

mou's,
An* when they were ahin the skweel 'twas aye their ae

excuse;
They tholed their pandies, smilin', but, as sune's they a*

wan oot,
They were fleein* tae the briggie an* the bonnie, loupin'

troot.

The domin* daunert doon ae day ; ae blink he got o't richt,
Neist meenit he was fleein' like a sklint o* livin* licht,
Syne doon again cam* spangin', an* pechin* as he ran,
An* bucklin* ticht thegither a* his soople fishin* wan*.

He tried ** mairch broons " an* " hare lugs," an* twined

an* birred his reel,

He clean forgot the littlins, an* their lessons, an* the skweel;
For 'oors he tried a* wily airts — an* muckle was his fame —
But had, at last, tae leave the trootie loupin* aye the same.

The muckle smith neist heard o't, an' he flang his hemmer

doon,
An' tauld the canty cobbler, an* they quickly hied them

roon;

A Whiff o' the Doric 17

The mullert left his rinnin* wheel tae binner at its will,
An' aff he gaed, amo* the lave, tae try his cunnin* skill.

They tempit it wi' dyowie worms, wi' waumlin' heids an'

tails;
Wi' clippin's o' a puddick, an' wi* lang-horned sliv'ry

snails;
Wi* spiders, mochs, an* bummers, ay, an* a* kin-kine o*

flees;
Wi' shuet, fat, an* girsels, an' wi* neuks o' birselt cheese.

Some tried it at the dawnin' when the dewdraps gemmed

the green,

An* ithers tried it, sleekit-like, at hush o* gloamin* e'en;
But it mattered nae a docken, an* they micht 'a' hained

their wark
For aye the trootie loupit on fae morn tae deepest dark.

The parson thocht tae try his han'; the trootie loupit heich,
'Twas richt aneth his nose, an' gart him blinter an* cry,

" Feich ! "

He spent the hale week at it; an* on Sunday fowk declared
That ** caul* kail het again " was jist the truth o* hoo

they fared.

The Laird cam* doon the water, flingin* mony a bonnie line,
That lichtit on ilk ripple, saft as westlin* win* sae fine,
He lured it up, he lured it doon, he tried in sun an* shooer,
But deil a ane o's airts could get the trootie in his pooer.

But ae day cam* a tinker loon wi* sun-brunt, barkit cheeks,
A towsy heid, a lauchin* e'e, an* nae doup at his breeks,
He steid an' glowert a fylie, syne he thrummelt in his pooch,
An' doon ahin the hingin* saugh did quate an* canny slooch.

18 A Whiff o' the Doric

He ca'd amo' the soughin' seggs an' dockens, till, at last,
A sappy " hairy granda " on his boo't preen was stuck

fast,
An' on his wyme, upon the saugh, he lay tae drap his

line—
Nae varnished silk, but jist a twa-three yairds o* merchan*

twine.

He waited till the trootie loupit Bonnie, richt aneth,

His tongue stuck i' the reef o's mou', an* fleyt tae blaw

his breath,

He drapped the hairy wormie wi' a canny, knacky heave —
An* in a blink the loupin' troot was grippit in his nieve.

The wird flew roon; the bairnies grat; the domin* clawed

his croon;
The smith an' cobbler swore an' aith, the thievin' tink tae

droon;

The loon, richt wily, met the Laird, wha niffert wi' a groat,
An' that same nicht the loupin' troot gaed loupin* doon his

throat.

A Whiff o' the Doric 19

ADDRESS TO THE AUL' BRIG O*
BALGOWNIE.

HAIL, eence again, aul* hoary Brig !
Aye stannin' siccar, douce, an' trig,
An* feint a favour dae ye prig

Fae een or neen;

An* spite o* dolefu' prophet's rhyme,
An* spite o* weather, tide, an' time,
Ye haud thegither, steen an* lime,
Yet far fae deen.

The rivin* win's o* blusterin* Mairch
Hae left nae scrat on your braw airch,
An* soor-mou'd critics vain may search

For shak' or trummle;
An* mithers' sons on mear's ae foal
May daur ye wi* their wecht tae thole;
As well micht try some howkin* mole

Tae gaur ye tummle.

Ye steid ere yet I saw the licht,
An* when I've gane fae human sicht
Ye'll still be stannin*, snod and ticht,

Lang years tae come;
An* roon the aul', grey, foggy wa's
Shall generations come tae pause,
Where eence prood fashion, prinked wi' braws,

Ate Pleasure's crum'.

Noo where are they o' bygane years,
Wha leuch at Fate wi' tentless sneers,

20 A Whiff o the Doric

An', young an' swack, kent nocht o* fears,

Or thocht o' death ?
In mony a green kirkyaird they He —
Where a* frail mortals ha'e tae hie —
'Neath kindly sod. Gane fae the eye

An' memory baith.

An' this frail race wha rule oor day,
An' mak' life hell for hell's poor pay,
Maun meet their fate in life's decay,

While ye live on,
Wi' pride an* honour a' your ain,
A cherished link in time's lang chain,
A note in music's sweet refrain

That hallows Don.

Oh ! may thy aul' grey lichened steens
Be stannin* aye when my poor beens
Are ground tae dust; an' years at ween 's

Lang hunners lie;

An' fae some nyeuk — gin nyeuk there be
For graceless rhymsters sic as me —
An antrin teet I'd like tae gie

Where Don rins by.

An* at the glint o' smilin* meen,
When ripples spark wi' silv'ry sheen,
An* lang-gane spirits tread the green

Wi* loup an* jig;
Oh ! may my spirit ha'e the pooer
Tae dwell for ae sweet, fleein' 'oor,
In fondest memory's raptured lure

Wi* thee, aul' brig.

A Whiff o' the Doric 21

THE ROUPIN' O* KIRSTY'S COO.

THE haudin* wis sma',
Jist an acre or twa,
Faur a* kin* o* weyds maistly grew;
So tae pey the laird's fee,
There wis naething wid dee,
Bit the roupin' o' Kirsty's coo.

She hed grutten for weeks,
Till her aul* wrinkled cheeks

Were furred wi' her een's sad dew;
An' the thocht an* the care
That hed fitened her hair,

Wis the he'rtbrak o' roupin' her coo.

She hed beddin* an* cleddin,

For kirsnin* or weddin*,
The saftest o* linen an* *oo*;

Ilk een wis a treasure,

Bit faur wis the pleasure,
Fin pairtin* wi* Betty, her coo.

There wis seyers an* cogs
That micht ging tae the dogs,

She'd ha'e nae mair eese for them noo;
There wis queelers an' churns,
Baith in sinn'ries an' kurns,

At the roupin' o' Kirsty's coo.

22 A Whiff o the Doric

Fowk cam' fae a* airts,

In their gigs an' their cairts,

Some dubbit, an* some skeyrin* new;
An* wi* dizzens on fit,
Aul* an* young, an* half-wit,

Tae the roupin* o* Kirsty's coo.

The souter cam* roun*

Wi' the vricht an* his loon,
An* the smith wi* the swett on his broo;

An* the dominie cam',

In the houp o* a dram,
Tae the roupin* o* Kirsty's coo.

Loons gaithert in boorichs
Like din-raisin' spoorichs,

Or played " tickie-tak' " in the stue;
An' aul* wives an' ithers,
Fae quines tae gran'mithers,

Were there tae wish luck t* the coo.

An aul' gipsy wife

Hed the haul o* her life,

Tellin* chiels o' the deems they wid woo;
An' she leuch in her throat
As she pooch 't ilky groat,

At the roupin' o* Kirsty's coo.

They badd upon ither,

Be't neeper or brither,
An* aye the bode swalled as it grew;

For the auctioneer chiel

Wis a rale wily de'il,
At the roupin* o' Kirsty's coo.

A Whiff o the Doric 23

A cowper fae Clatt,

Fa hubbert an' spat,
Swore tae hae her by a' that wis blue;

But the smith in a rage

Dang him throwe the funn hedge —
Fin he rase they hed roupit the coo.

Fin the hammer cam' doon,

Kirsty's he'rt gied a stoun,
She wis shakin* an' file roun* the mou*;

An* she gied a wae glower,

Syne a sich, an' fell ower,
At the fit o* her peer roupit coo.

Hoot, na ! she wis livin',

Tho* worn deen wi' grievin*,
But seen kittl't up fin 'twas thro';

An* neist mornin* early

Dumfoonert her sairly,
Tae hear the hame lowe o* her coo.

She flew tae the byre,

Wi* her aul' he'rt on fire,
An* Betty — sweet sicht — met her view —

Fae her neepers a caird —

" We ha'e sattled the laird,
An* we wish ye lang life wi* yer coo."

24 A Whiff o the Doric

THE NAITRAL.

THEY ca'd him daft an* gypit, an' some even ca'd him
feel;
He couldna fathom " man's chief end," nor spell a wird

at skweel;

He couldna coont a dizzen richt; his writin' aye gaed gyte;
But there wasna ane could bleck him whistlin* like a
yalla-yite.

He kent the lythest neukie where the spinkies first would

blaw,

An' lo'ed their bonnie faces keekin' oot ahin the snaw.
He heard the mavie yokin' to the tunin* o* his pipes,
An' leuch to hear the blackie whistlin' where the burnie

sypes.

He kent the hidie-holie where the " thoomie " hod her nest ;
An* guddlin' for a broon troot he was far afore the rest.
He saw the robin biggin', and the corbies thiggin* sticks,
An' 'oors would watch them fleein' by as black's the ace
o' picks.

An' yet they ca'd him gypit kin', some even ca'd him saft,
But little recked they o* his dreams in chaumer or in laft,
Where oft, in visions bright, he saw great dazzling scenes

unfold —
The ruddy beams of wakening dawn, the sunset's gleaming

gold.

A Whiff o the Doric 25

There's a wealth o' lear an' learnin' that the skweels an*

college gie,
But they canna cowe the knowledge gleaned frae wood an*

gowan'd lea.

They canna bleck the liltin* o* the lav'rock in the lift,
Nor the glintin* o* the sunlicht when the black cloods yoke

to -rift.

So their lear ne'er bothered Willie, wha was happiest him

leen,
Wi* the fite cloods rowin' ower him, an' the heather

sproutin* green,
An' he'd spend the day a-rantin* wi' some tyke far owre

the moor,
Carin' nae a single docken whether sun, or win', or shoo'r.

But there cam' the dreary winter, when the drift lay deep

owre a",

An' the cottar bairnie tint its wye, an' waunnert hine awa';
They ca'd the hills, an' woods, an* howes for mony a

weary mile,
An* didna miss a burnie, nor a briggie, nor a stile.

When the daylicht creepit latchie up the caul', grey

eastern sky,

They heard the bairnie greetin', greetin' wi' a waefu' cry;
An' lyin* lythe ahin a buss, frae winter's bitin' blast,
They fand the waunnert bairn in Willie's oxter — safe at last.

He had tirred himsel' o' grauvit, an* o' kwite an* jacket

baith,
To hap the bairn an' rowe him roon frae winter's deadly

skaith.

26 A Whiff o' the Doric

Wi' joyfu' he'rts they fand him, syne howkit in the s.naw,
An' socht to waken Willie — but Willie was awa* !

Wi' a wee saft tender smilie lyin* roon his pairted mou',
As gin he'd seen a vision fair an* happy to his view.
He had ta'en the lonesome wye his leen to that last hame

o' dreams,
Where the sweet reward was waitin', an the sunlicht ever

gleams.

******

There's a big, bricht starn at nicht-time twinkles, twinkles

up abeen,
Till it seems to licht the moorland wi' a bonnie, silv'ry

sheen;

An' it seems to me as gin the soul o' Willie comes again
To the happy scenes o* childhood, to the moorland an'

the glen.

To hear the curlew wailin* as the gloamin* saftly fa's ;
To hear the win' gang soughin' where the bluebell sweetly

blaws ;
To see the hame he fondly lo'ed ; the haunts he kent sae

weel,
His restless spirit wanders frae the dear Land o' the Leal.

n D n

A Whiff o the Doric 27

A RANTIN' HALLOWE'EN.

This tale is true as truth itsel'
An' gin it binna I'll ne'er tell
Anither.

AUL* Luckie Grunzie yokit it,
An' a* the gossips trockit it,
O* ne'er a wird they dockit it,

But gied it wecht, I ween ;
Nane socht the reet or rise o* it,
But aye they swalled the size o* it,
An' tauld a dizzen wyes o* it,
That nicht o* Hallowe'en.

They tauld it roon the smiddy fire,
An' clakkin* tongues gaed wintin" tire
In lordly ha", in cot or byre,

An* some spak' o't them leen.
'Twis said — but haud your thoom on't noo —
The laird got rantin', reemin* fou,
Wi' some daft, halliracket crew,

That nicht o' Hallowe'en.

Owre stoups o* gweed Glendronach bree
They tryst a nicht o* warlock glee,
Far yont the midnicht's mirkest e'e,
Wi* a' the "oors atween.

28 A Whitf o' the Doric

An* loupin' quines frae Lunnon Toon,
Hauf-nakit, deck't in skimpy goon,
Bewitched wi' lowin* een ilk loon,
That hallach Hallowe'en.

They scraucht like cocks at waukriffe morn,
An' lowed like nowt wi* routin' horn,
An* ilka deevlish prank e'er born

Was tried ere they were deen.
They brunt them nits that loup an* dird ;
They pu'd kail-castocks frae the yird ;
An* hamely lugs heard ootlin wird,

That rantin* Hallowe'en.

An* ae braw hizzie staw a cloo
O* gweed *oo* wirsit, brichtly blue,
But ere 'twas twined she ta'en the grue,

An* dwamle lay her leen ;
Aboot the rucks they faddomed thrice,
An* fleggit snugly-beddit mice,
An' frichtened squeals but added spice

Tae that wild Hallowe'en.

Furth, owre the muir, they rantit neist,
An' kwite an' kirtle aff they cuist,
Tae loup like kelpies owre a feast,

The like wis never seen.
In jinga-ring they flang their legs,
The wild deuks, squatterin* frae the seggs,
Oaed flichterin' yont the uplan* craigs,

That nicht o* Hallowe'en.

A Whiff o the Done 29

Neist in the kirkyard, aul' an* grey,
They hooched an' danced in wild deray,
An* dang owre heidsteens i' the clay,

An' leuch when a* wis deen.
An' ere they tint the dwinin* meen,
They hied them hame owre bog an* steen,
Wi* clorty claes an* dubbit sheen,

Tae eyn their Hallowe'en.

There ilka haiveless, godless wicht,
In hellcat revels spent the nicht,
Till mornin* cam' wi' laggard licht,

Tae, tim'rous, view the scene.
An' Luckie Grunzie dauredna tell
The hauf o' what that nicht befell,
But vowed 'twas mair like bleezin* hell

Than nicht o' Hallowe'en.

D D D

30 A Whiff o' the Doric

THE CANTIE AUL' CARLE.

I MET an aul' carle where the Carron rins clear,
Near the aul' ruined kirk wi' its memories dear ;
His tongue, like a bell, clattered on for an 'oor,
As we sheltered a while fae a saft simmer shooer,
This cantie aul", vauntie aul' carle.

He kent a' the country for miles roon an' roon,
He kent ilka neuk in Steenhive's bonnie toon ;
He was crammed tae the noddle wi* aul *-f arrant lore,
An' gaun by his looks he was ower the three score,
This cantie aul', rantie aul' carle.

He tauld aboot rabbits, an' futtrats, an* hares,
The makin' o* girns, an* the settin' o' snares ;
He'd poached an' he'd sniggered wi* gun an' wi' rod,
An' kent whaur the dyowie worm lurked i' the sod,
This cantie aul', scanty aul* carle.

He'd wrocht ilka trap, whether timmer or steel,
An' kent them, he swore, fae the tae t' the heel,
An' rottans he'd teen by the dizzen an' score,
An' a' ither craitters in hunners galore,
This cantie aul*, dauntless aul* carle.

He kent ilka roadie, an' wallie, an* burn ;
At antrin odd jobs could his skeely han's turn ;
Whatever was wantit this carle was your frien',
An' only nott speirin* tae ha'e the wark deen,
This cantie aul', willin' aul' carle.

A Whiff o the Doric 31

A cantie aul* carle in a black glancin' kwite,
A wee thochtie boo't, an' his beard unco file,
But keen was his spirit, an* bricht was his e'e,
As he steid on the briggie an* laagit tae me,
This vaunt ie aul', cantie aul* carle.

CDC

32 A Whiff o' the Doric

THE KITCHIE DEEM.

*' I 'WIS Mairtimiss the deem cam* hame,

* An' ere the back o' Eil
There wisna een aboot the toon

But swore she wis the deil ;
She turned the hale place heelster-heid,

An* nearly dreev's a' gyle ;
Fatever happened oot or in
The deem got aye the wyte.

The kye gaed eill at antrin times,

An* widna gie a drap ;
The rats played skaivie i* the laft,

An* left nae seed for crap ;
The butter connacht i* the churn ;

The soo dee't jist for spite ;
An* so, withoot a wird o* doot,

The deem got a* the wyte.

The rucks taen fire on Hogmanay,

Jist as the 'ear gaed oot,
An* brunt fu* herty for an *oor,

An* brunt the barn tae boot.
The shalt ran aff, an* brook a shaft,

An* garr't the maister clyte,
An* eence again, tho* miles awa*,

The deem got a* the wyte.

A Whiff o' the Doric 33

An' syne the mear cuist aft her foal,

An' dwined for mony a day ;
The maister's hair — eence bonnie black —

Wis straikit noo wi* grey ;
The wife hed tint her rosy cheeks,

An' lookit wan an* fite,
An* tho' they didna say a wird,

The deem got a' the wyte.

The orra billie brook an* airm

Wi* tumlin' doon the wall ;
The " knock " set aff ae Sunday nicht,

An* rung withoot deval ;
The kittlin suppit a* the ream ;

The dog begood tae bite ;
An' tho* she, greetin*, " cut her breath,"

The deem got a* the wyte.

The littlins widna sup their brose ;

The hens forgot tae lay ;
The muckle plooman tint his watch

Amo* the barley strae ;
A futtrat wirry't half the deuks ;

The cheese hed taen the mite ;
Wi* waggin' tongues an' noddin* heids,

The deem got a' the wyte.

An', yet, she wis a sonsie deem,

Wi' glintin', gowden hair;
An* chiels cam' coortin* ower the rigs,

An' fussled lang an* sair.

34 A Whif o' the Doric

They chirpit roon aboot the toon

Like love-lorn yalla-yite,
An' when the maister couldna sleep

The deem got a' the wyte.

He tauld her, syne, tae pack her kist,

An' tak' the road at morn ;
So at the wauk'nin' glint o' day

She left them a* wi* scorn.
An* noo, gin ferlies chance tae fa',

They girn, an* greet, an' flyte,
An* tho* the deemie's hine awa*

She still gets a* the wyte.

a a a

A Whiff o' the Doric 35

AUL' EIL.

HHE meen was sheenin' bricht an* clear
••• When gweed Aul' Eil cam' in this 'ear,
Sae aff I set wi' cronies dear
Tae feast an' gallivantin*.

We met wi' ither lichtsome chiels,
Blythe, rantin', roarin', herty deils,
Wi' fun aye ettlin* tae the heels,
An* crouse as ony bantin'.

Snug seatit roon the festive boord,
Tae whilk ilk appetite was lured,
He wad hae been a feckless cooard
Wha wad been found a-wantin*.

The sweet an* sappy sowens first
We snappit jist tae slock a thirst,
An* some wad teen mair gin they durst,
But, haith, it set them pantin*.

A wheen o* lads an* quines amang's
Noo gaw's a routh o* bonnie sangs,
Ye ne'er heard tell o* sic ring-dangs
As on the 'oors gaed slantin*.

An* syne wi* caunles bleezin* bricht,
The Aul' Eil log cam* intae sicht,
Wi' pipers skirl in* a* their micht,

There ne'er was heild sic rantin*.

36 A Whiff o the Doric

A cup o* richt weel-maskit tay,
Afore the cairds we'd yoke tae play,
Jist pat's a' in the wye tae hae
Nae thocht o' sleep or gantin*.

Wi* whist an* *' totum " time aboot
We gart the happy nicht spin oot,
An' aye we swore withoot a doot
Till mornin* we'd nae dauntin'.

But some " sma* 'oors ayont the twal'
Even pleasures sweet began tae pall,
An* tho* rale sweer tae brak the thrall,
The morn wad sune be sklantin'.

Wi' " Aul* Lang Syne " oor han's we jined,
An' pledged oorsel's for 'ears tae mind
The nicht we spent sae leal an' kind
At Aul' Eil's gallivantin*.

n a a

A Whiff o the Doric 37

THE BARN DANCE.

THE laft wis snoddit but an' ben, an' swypit furth the
door,

An' a* the cupples buskit bricht wi* paper chines galore ;
A dizzen muckle lantrins, syne, were hung aboot the wa's,
An* evergreens an' paper flooers swang fae the jeists in raws.
Aweyt, it a' wis up-tae-dick fae riggin'-heid tae fleer ;
A neukie for the band tae sit, bit a* the lave wis clear,
An* fin the nicht itsel' cam* roon — withoot a leein* wird —
They gart the biggin' howder, sirse, wi* mony a hooch an'
dird.

There wis a clippin* o* a meen gaun creepin' thro we the

lift,

Eneuch tae lat the lasses see tae loup the peels sae swift,
An' some cam* there wi* twa-three chiels, an' some wi*

neen ava,
An' chiels cam* there withoot a deem, an' antrin eens brocht

twa;
Some daunert throwe the muckle widd, an' some cam' ower

the burn,
An* ae lang chiel cam' doon the hill, wi' mony a twine

an* turn ;

An* there they met sae cantilie tae spen* the jovial oors,
Wi* chaffin* an' wi* daffin* ey tae music's lichtsome pooers.

The fiddlers twined the fiddle-pins, an* rositit the bows,
An', syne, begood tae play a mairch, " The Herdin' o'

the Yowes ' ' ;
An* seen the fleer wis steerin* fu" o* lads an* lasses fair,

38 A Whiff o' the Doric

Fa turned an* hooch't an* cleekit, sirse, withoot a thocht

o* care ;

Wi* furlin* time, an* kissin* time, sae herty they heild on,
For neen were slack tae tak* a " smack," tho* some got

but a " scone ** ;

An* tiggin* lasses witchin* leuch wi* glintin', trystin* een,
An* twined an* turned wi' soople fit like fairies on the green.

They brocht the reekin* toddy roon in muckle milkin* pails,
An* tongues were slackit efterhin', an* gaed like thrashin*

flails ;
Some hed ae gless, an* some hed twa ; an* some gaed thro we

the bows,
An* focht or kissed tae tak* the e'e faur love's sweet lichtie

lowes.

So lichtly flew the rantin* 'oors wi* Pleasure at the prow,
An* ilky een pangt fu*, wi* Fun ey tittin* at the tow;
Syne sleepy heids an' lichtsome herts gaed hame wi*

morn in* licht ;
An* memory added tae her store a happy, blythsome nicht.

D D D

A Whiff o' the Doric 39

THE SPAEWIFE.

I KEN an' aul* carlin*
That bides in a howe,
Where heather an' breem

Bloom the hale simmer throwe ;
Her biggin's weel thackit

Wi* divots an' girss ;
An* her tongue wad clip cloots
Gin ye pit up her birse.

She swears like a darger,

An* smokes like a lum,
She snuffs — an*, they say,

Tak's a moofu' o* rum ;
She wears an aul* mutch,

An' an aul* wincy goon,
Wi' gey gashelt sheen

Whilk she skushles aroon.

She's skeely wi' herbs,

An* can brew ye a dram
That gars your lugs crack

While your thrapple ye cram ;
Her eyntmints an* saws

(Made o' puddicks an' taeds)
Are gweed for maist a'

That keeps fowk i* their beds.

She'll spae ye a fortin,
Wi' tay-cup or cairds,

40 A Whiff o the Doric

As peer as a tinker's,
Or fat as a laird's ;

She'll bless ye or curse ye,
Whate'er be her teen,

An' care-na a docken
For cat nor for queen.

Bit she's couthie an' kindly

Gin sorrows betide,
An' warm lowes her hert

At her ain ingleside,
Where the peat's murlin' licht,

When she's sittin* her leen,
Aften glints on the tears

That aye droon her aul* een.

D n

A Whiff o' the Doric 41

THE DEID ROBIN.

WHAT fell mishanter here's befa'en
My russet-breistit cronie,
Wha happit blythly roon my fit,
An* wheepled aye sae bonnie?

What luckless turn o* fortune's wheel
In death has laid thee streekit,

An left me here tae dwine my leen,
In grief an' sorrow theekit?

Thy wee bit dwebble, spinnle shanks
Will ne'er again come happin* ;

Nor at the peen, in winter's caul',
Thy perky nib come tappin*.

Thy gleg an* glintin', bricht, black e'e

Aft teetit yont the pailin",
Gin I, perchance, micht, wi* the spade,

Fa* eidently a-dellin*.

Fu* mony a sappy, waumblin* worm
Fae oot the yird thou'st howkit,

An* in a blink 'twas in thy wime,
An*, Robin, thou ne'er kowkit.

Thy heich, sweet, wheeplin", Hutin* sang
Soun't clear at peep o* mornin*,

As tho' tae chide my heedless sloth,
'Mid wakenin* day's adornin*.

42 A Whiff o' the Doric

An' ere the nicht had cled the earth
In robes o' mirkest sadness,

Thou liltit at the gloamin' *oor

Thy dear, sweet notes o* gladness.

On yon wild rose I saw thee last,
Thy breistie bricht an* shinin* ;

Nae reider were the ripenin' hips
That roon thee were a-twinin*.

I'll lay thee "neath the wild rose tree —
My hert is sair wi' sobbin' —

An' tenderly I'll hap thee o'er —
Oh, fare-thee-well, poor Robin !

nan

A Whiff o' the Doric

FAIR FA* THE MORN.

JANUARY 25.

fa' the lucky natal morn,
The morn, dear Robin, thou wert born,
'Mid Januar' win's whase blust'rin' horn
Blew hansel braw.

O sweet-voiced singer, dear's thy name
In ilka Scottish hert an' hame,
An' years but mark thy greater fame
Tho' ye're awa'.

O hert sae tender, kind an' leal,
That e'en could pitying sorrow feel
For yon black-avised, glow'rin' deil
An* moosie sma'.

Thou fondest lover, couthie frien',
O wad that I thy face had seen,
An* spent a rantin', glorious e'en
Within thy wa'.

O lover o* the flowerin* lea,
The soarin' lark sae blythe an* free ;
My hert is a' I hae tae gie —
Ye hae it a*.

44 A Whiff o' the Doric

TO A WHIN BLOOM.

IN EARLY JANUARY.

T T AIL ! gowden herald o* the spring,
•^ •* Ere yet the lav'rock tak's the wing
Wi* upward lift, tae heavenward sing,

Ye bravely bloom ;
A glint o' gladness bricht tae bring
'Mid winter's gloom.

When blust'rin* storms wi* piercin' shower
Hae chilled the hert o' bud an' flower,
In some lythe neuk ye find a bower —

Fell -dyke or steen ;
An' gin the sun but gie a glower,

Thy gowd is seen.

Ye seek nae cultured halls o' fame,
The bare hillside tae thee is hame,
Where, like a livin', loupin' flame,

Thy blossoms blaw ;
Weel-lo'ed — weel-kent by sight an* name

Tae ane an' a'.

The moorlands drear ye fringe fu' braw
Ere yet they tine their driftit snaw ;
Thy hertsome bloomie heich ower a',

I lo'e tae see.
An' couthie inspiration draw
Frae thy bricht e'e.

A Whiff o the Doric 45

Oh ! would that mankind were like thee,

Content, whate'er their station be,

Tae haud their heids sae proudly heigh

Abeen the earth,
An* wi' a cheerfu*, kindly e'e,

Show forth their worth.

Oh, hail thee ! herald o* the spring,
Thy gladsome message fondly bring,
That eager, joyfu* herts may sing

Wi' thy dear kin,
An* warmest welcomes o'er thee fling —

Thou bonnie whin !

n n n

46 A Whiff o' the Doric

THE HAIRST MEEN.

AH, frien", ye're glowerin' eence again
On mony a stookit rig an' plain,
Fae Johnnie Groats, an' far as Spain,

Ower hill an' howe,
An' mony an e'e will greet fu* fain
Thy bonnie lowe.

Thy weel-kent face, roun', gowden clear,
Brings routh o' winnin* nichts tae cheer
The hairstin' herts that lo'e ye dear,

An* toast ye weel,
As throwe amo' the cloods ye steer,

An' nimmle speel.

It's dootless but an aul* wife's fret
That ye hae magic poo'rs — an' yet,
Queer unco cantrips, e'er ye set,

Ye're said tae play,
An* mony a ploy ye've haud'n het

Till skreek o* day.

The greetin', girnin*, waukrife wean
Has aft been kent tae cheenge her teen
Fin ye cam* teetin* throwe the peen,

An* gart her lauch
Tae see the fairies* dancin' sheen

On yon weet haugh.

A Whiff o the Doric 47

Fu* mony a lass, wi* lovin' smile,
Has saftly blessed thy lurin' wile,
An' tempit wi' bewitchin' guile

Some lad thro* you,
Tae keep a tryst ower mony a mile

Tae kiss her mou*.

Fu* mony a rantin*, drouthy wicht
Has reezed thy frien'ly, guidin' licht,
Fin styt'rin* hame, ye gied him sicht,

Tae weyd the gutters,
An' eased his mind o' bokey's fricht

An' sic- like scutters.

Foo aft, as cautie Omar says,

Hae ye glowert doon on mankind's ways,

An' shed thy Bonnie, glintin* rays

On darksome deeds,
An* wi* thy kelpie's flegs or fays

Teen up their heids?

Foo aft the lispin', toddlin' bairn

Ye've watched tae manhood grow fu* stern,

An* tyauve wi' swettin' broo tae earn

Life's daily breid,
Till caul* at last aneith a caim

They laid his heid?

Ah ! gowden, glintin', glorious meen,
Gang saftly ower yon sacred green,
Where generations sleep serene

Wha kent thy face,
An* generations yet unseen

May find a place.

48 A Whiff o the Doric

THE HAUNTED SMIDDY.

IN Aiberdeen's douce, canny toon —
Where sense an* wit sit ticht an* soun*,
An* learnin* spreads its priceless boon

In skweel an* college —
But lately things hae come the roon
Ayont a* knowledge.

The New 'Ear bells hed scarce deen chappin*
When speerits, grim, begood their rappin',
As roon the darksome smiddy flappin*

Fae fleer tae thack ;
The caul* steen wa's groaned wi* their clappin',

Jist like tae crack.

Syne up abeen the smiddy bare
The beds gaed loupin* i* the air,
An* tables reeled an* jigged fu* rare

Ower a* the fleer,
Till cheirs an* stules, an* maybe mair,

Jined i* the steer.

On ilka wa* sic rants o* knockin',
Wi* fleers like drunken tinkers rockin',
An* antrin bumps gied nerves a shockin*

They'd mind for lang,
An* banish sceptic thochts o* mockin*

Or ribald sang.

A Whiff o' the Doric 49

The law, wi' grave, portentous broo,

Cam' steppin' in tae interview

The ghaists ; or, aiblins, seek a clue —

But weel a wat —
Sic pranks they saw nae farrer thro*

Than ony bat.

Wise fowk fae a' the airts appeared,

An* spiered an* glowered, an' glowered an' spiered,

But fent o' a* the logic reared

Could riddle weel,
Tho* witches, fairies, ghaists were feared,

An* e'en the deil.

The boggarts wild wha haunt the moors,
Or ride the nicht on sleety shoo'rs,
An' wile at midnicht's eerie 'oors

Benichted fowk,
Perchance tae practise devilish lures

In smiddies howk.

An* there, when honest toilers rest,
They rant in leather aprons dress't,
An' clang the studdy hemmers fest

On ilka wa',
An' lauch as at a merry jest

Gin hairm befa'.

The kelpies that, oor aul' fowk tell's,
Frequent the streams o* lonely dells,
An* ring the woods wi' frichtsome yells

In deid o' nicht,
May teen a thocht tae try their spells

On this puir wicht.

50 A Whiff o the Doric

But gweed or ill there's neen can say
The cause o' a* this sair deray,
Tho* theories grave an* theories gay

We dinna lack ;
Some jeer an' lauch, while ithers pray

At airts sae black.

An' ilka professorial pow

Is waggin* ower the why? an' how?

O sic weird cantrips ; an* they vow

They're fairly bleckit,
While canons, kirks, an* press, I trow,

Are mystery-glaiket.

n a n

A Whtf o' the Doric 51

THE HYOWIN' O* THE NEEPS.

WE hyowt the neeps in sunny June,
A Bonnie lass an' I,
An' blythe an* lichtsome were we baith

As toilsome days gaed by.
For aft the lass wad lilt a sang,

While witchin* glanced her e*e ;
I'd never wish a sweeter lass
Than hyowt the neeps wi' me.

She teen the foremost dreel at morn,

Tae follow I was fain ;
An* keen was I tae scan her wark,

An' watch for miss or blain,
For ilka blain she chanced tae male',

A kiss she had tae gie ;
An* scores the lassie willin* paid,

That hyowt the neeps wi* me.

We hyowt the neeps tae morn till eve,

The bonnie lass an* I,
Fae yokin* time tae lowsin* time,

Wi* laverocks liltin* high.
An*, oh ! but we were canty baith,

Oor herts were liltin' tee,
An* noo the lassie's tryst it aye

Tae hyow the neeps wi* me.

52 A Whiff o' the Doric

THE COORTIN' O' BLYTHE
BETTY HAWS.

HHERE was lauchin* an* claikin'
^ At washin* an' bakin',

An' tongues gaed like wag-at-the-wa's ;
An' the reel an' the rise o't,
The wyes o't, an* size o't —

The coortin* o* blythe Betty Haws.

She'd a craftie weel happit,

A moggin weel stappit
Wi' siller in muckles an' sma's ;

The thocht o't was tempin', .

An' mony cam* hmpin',
A-coortin* o* blythe Betty Haws.

She had lads that were .fifty,
An* lads that were thrifty,

An* lads wi* fyow bawbees or braws ;

Frae the laird tae the souter,
- Oh ! ilka daft footer

Was coortin' o' blythe Betty Haws.

At mornin* they wheepled,

An* evenin* they tweetled,
Or routit like nowt i' their sta's ;

An' they focht roun* her biggin',

Like cats on the riggin',
While coortin' o* blythe Betty Haws.

A Whiff o' the Doric 53

They got fou ower the heid o't ;

At nicht — i' the deid o't —
They'd sing themsel's hairse as the craws,

Till the tykes, roun* an* roun',

Would a' join in the tune,
At the -oortin* o* blythe Betty Haws.

Some swore by her dimples,

Where beauty's stream wimples,
An' some by the airts the win' blaws ;

Tae her een an* her mou'

Ithers vowed tae be true,
At the coortin' o' blythe Betty Haws.

Frae the Spring tae November,

An* richt thro* December,
When Winter's caul* mantle doon fa's,

They were sweerin' like tinkers,

They'd dee for her winkers,
When coortin* o* blythe Betty Haws.

But at Aul* Eil, I'm reckin*,

They got a begeckin',
For Betty teen ill o* the thraws ;

She was auchty ; her blessin*

She left them — a' guessin*
Whilk ane micht hae wed Betty Haws.

54 A Whiff o the Doric

THE AUL' DROVER.

W

rEEL kent far an* wide,

Roun' the hale countryside,
A pawky aul* carle an* a drouthy wis he ;
Wi' his aul' clootit kwite,
An* his dog, black an* file,
Hirplin* canny alang wi* ae lug ower its e'e.

Aft croonin* a sang

As he skushelt alang
In his bauchelt aul* sheen, geylies heely-ma-Iee,

Wi' a stirk or a soo,

Twa-three sheep or a coo,
Soo Jimmie wis blythe as a bird on a tree.

He cursed lood an* lang

Gin his kye waunert wrang,
An* a rung wi* his staff his aul' tyke he wad gie ;

For whatever gaed geyt

The peer tyke got the wyte,
An* tho* rarely tae blame, faith, he aye got the bree.

There wisna an inn

Hed a totum tae spin
Bit Jimmie wad gie't a bit furl — ay, an* win ;

Wad coup ower a noggin,

Syne doon the road joggin*
He'd lilt like a mavie when springtime comes in.

A Whiff o' the Doric 55

The bairns kent him weel,

An' wad trot at his heel,
An* for thanks a gweed sweerin' they'd get frank an* free ;

But the fent a ane cared,

For they couldna be scared
When they saw the bit glint o' his kindly aul' e'e.

Peer Jimmie's awa',

Wi* his aul* tyke an* a*,
An* the road that they traivelt's baith lonely an' lang ;

But there's nae the least doot,

Gin the truth wad creep oot,
That he fittit it croonin* his cheery aul' sang.

D a n

56 A Whiff o the Doric

THERE NEVER WAS SIC A
MINEER.

I™1 HERE never was sic a mincer, a mincer,
•^ There never was sic a mincer,

Sin' the day that the cadger

Got fou for a wadger,
There never was sic a mincer.

An* fent a ane kent hoo it yokit, it yokit,
But swith, ere a body could speir,
There was greetin' an* groanin',
An' sobbin* an' moanin' —
Meg raised sic a hallach mincer.

Her een in her heid were a-rowin', a-rowin",
Her heels dirlin' fest on the fleer,

An' her han's clawin' roon

In her tousled heid's croon —
There never was sic a mincer.

They flew for an* aul* wife sae skeely, sae skeely,
Wha dosed her wi* wauchts wersh an* queer,

But o* odds there was neen

When her pheesic was deen,
For Meg aye held on her mincer.

They rowed her in plaisters an* poultice, an' poultice,
As thick as the spurtle wad steer,

An* her feet got a sweelin*

Tae gie her bleid queelin* —
There never was sic a mincer. <

A Whiff o' the Doric 57

They brocht in the smith an* the souter, the souter,
But nocht could they baith dee but sweer ;

An' some ane was plannin*

Tae rowe her in flannin
When Meg eyn't their norsin' career.

She grabbit a besom sae hefty, sae hefty,
An' dreeve them a* furth wi* their gear,

Syne their plaisters an' messes

She flang in their faces —
There never was sic a daft steer.

Syne she lockit her doorie, her doorie,
An' deil a ane daured tae gang near,

Tho' she skirled a* her micht

Till the deid o' the nicht —
There never was sic a galeer.

An* ne'er a ane e'er kent what ailed her, what ailed her.
An' neen hed the smeddum tae spier ;

But fae that day till now

They'd be will in* tae vow
There never was sic a mincer.

D D D

58 A Whiff o' the Doric

THE SCUTTER O' LIFE.

LIFE was naething but a scutter
Frae the day that he was born,
For fent a protick e'er he tried

But brocht him fash an' scorn.
At skweel he'd ne'er a marra

When it cam' tae bein' blate ;
For 'twas naething but a scutter,
Whether pen, or beuk, or ski ate.

'Twas a scutter in the mornin'

When his mither gart him rise ;
'Twas a scutter richt throwe a' the day,

Wi' grumblin' sichs an* sighs ;
'Twas a scutter, syne, tae tirr himsel'

When beddin' time cam' roun' ;
An' a scutter waur than ony

Dichtin's face or kaimin's croon.

When skweelin* days were deen at last,

A lingle lang he grew ;
An* 'twas a scutter stannin' straucht,

A scutter, syne, tae boo.
He half-thocht eence o* listin',

But he thocht an* thocht in vain,
Till the scutterin' an* thinkin'

Gart his peer heid furl again.

A Whiff o the Doric 59

'Twas a scatter tae gang coortin",

Tho' he tholed it weel aneuch,
For his deemie lookit 'witchin*

When she teen his e'e an' leuch ;
But he britchened ower the weddin',

'Twas the weel-warst soss ava,
An' the scutter o't near gart him —

When the parson speired — say " Na."

'Twas a scutter, syne, the nursin',

For his fingers were a' thooms ;
An' greetin* geets he couldna bide,

They gied him aye the glooms.
Wi* bibbs an' cloots an* hippens — tchach !

'Twas scutter, scutter on,
Frae skreek o* licht tae throwe the nicht,

Wi* peace an* quaetness gone.

So life wis jist a scutter,

An', as far as he could see,
'Twad be a botch an' bucker

When his time cam' roun* tae dee ;
An' though ower here 'twas ill aneuch,

He winner't lang an' sair,
Gin the scutter michtna, efter a',

Be ten-faul' waur ower there.

.60 A Whtf o the Doric

AT THE FIT O' BENNACHIE.

WHERE the sun strikes in the mornin* at the fit o'
Bennachie,

An* a caller burnie trinkles fae the hill,
There's a thackit hoosie stannin' wad delight your hert

tae see,
An' for years in memory wad be wi' ye still.

It's but a hamely but-an'-ben, wi' roses roun' the door,

An* a placie biggit tee tae haud the coo ;
Wi* a rare aul' gairden fu* o* scentit favourites by the
score —

Oh ! the guff o't twines aboot my hert eynoo.

There's flags upon the kitchie fleer, an' peats upon the fire,
An* the blue reek brings the water tae your een ;

Gars the kettle, singin' cheery on the seety crook, inspire
Thochts o' tea an' scones wi* butter thick atween.

Ye help tae fesh the hummlie hame when milkin* time

comes roon —

She's baiky't hine awa* ahin the knowe —
An' when the het milk's foamin* ower the cogue an* rinnin'

doon,
It a kin* o* pits your hert up in a lowe.

The wark b'han', ye daunner throwe the plantin* up the hill,

Tae flap amo* the heather for a smoke ;
Where the muckle bee is bummin* on the evenin* air sae still,

Busy rypin* ilka sprig tae ful* his pyoke.

A Whiff o the Doric 61

The sun dips bonnie ower the howe, we fain wad langer bide,
But, by an* by, the gweedwife gie's a ca* ;

The gweedman leads, ye follow neist, wi' bricht een by

your side,
In the plantin* some ane gets a kiss or twa.

Ye dauchle in the gloamin' o* the dusky simmer's nicht,
An* ye maybe think the aul* man disna see,

Till ye sit inbye the ingle wi* its cosy, loupin* licht,
Syne ye glimpse the wee bit twinkle in his e'e.

Here gaithert roon the birslin* fire o* bleezin* rosit reels,
The hin'most drowsy *oor sune weers awa* ;

An* throwe your sleep there drifts the yoam o* murlin*

reistit peats,
Wi* a breath o* honeysuckle sweet ower a*.

There's routh o* grander hooses, and there's dootless fowk
mair braw,

Bit I'm dootin* sair gin ony ane could see
The marra o* that thackit hoose sae couthie, kind, an* a*,

Biggit lythe in at the fit o* Bennachie.

D D D

62 A Whif o' the Doric

AN OLD-WORLD GARDEN OF
ROSES.

P HERE'S an olct- world garden of roses,
••• Whose fragrance fills the air,
And the beauty and peace of the whole wide world

Seem gathered together there.
The song of the mavis swelling,
The hum of the droning bee,
Come borne on the breath of sweetness,
Laden with joy to me.

In this old-world garden of roses,

With its old-world fragrant flowers,
All mossy and grey the sundial stands,

Counting the sunny hours.
When the years slip into the shadows,

With their memories grave or gay,
This old-world garden of roses

Will dwell in my heart for aye.

D D D

LILTS AND LYRICS.

Lilts and Lyrics.

APRIL.

Nature awakens, 'tis springtime again,
An' earth's bosom welcomes the soft, plashin' rain;
Frae winter's caul' grip she, rejoicing, is free,
An' daily is buskin' to meet summer's e'e.

Now April weeps gently, yet smiles through her tears,
As longing for summer, still winter she fears;
The sun blinks sae bonnie on woodland an' lea,
An wiles back to beauty ilk green budding tree.

The soft, whisp'ring win's o'er the warning earth blow,
An' melt, on the hillsides, the lang-lyin' snaw ;
The troots are a' loupin' in ilka broon bum,
Where cowslips bloom bonnie the banks to adorn.

Come forth frae thy slumbers, thou sweet-droning bee I
A Welcome awaits thee on ilk flowery lea,
An sweet music swelling where'er thou shalt turn,
An' hope gently chiding the heart that Would mourn.

Oh! welcome, sWeet April, thy soft, sypin' rain,
An' welcome thy sunshine on hillside an plain;
Oh I long may thy soughin' win's couthily blaw
To wile oor sad thoughts frae the winter awa'.

66 A Whif o' the Doric

THE LASS WI' THE AUL' SILKEN GOON.

cam' a sweet lass doon the loanin'
As gloamin' was weerin' awa' ,
She hadna a plack nor a farthin' ,

O' siller she had nane ava;
Bare-leggit an' barfit she trampit

Fu' mony a mile roon an' roon,
But nane that I kent could e'er marra
The lass wi' the aul' silken goon.

She sang me the sangs o' the hamelan',

The loWe o' dear hame in her e'e;
The sangs o' the wide rollin' moorlan',

The hills an' the blue shoudin' sea;
Her smile Was like bricht gleamin' sunlicht,

Her hair wavin' bonnie an' broon,
An' ne'er had I seen one sae witchin's

The lass wi' the aul' silken goon.

" Sweet lass, will ye be my ain dearie? "

I Wooed an' I priggit ju sair ;
" I'll shield ye fae caul' an' fae hunger,

An' braid wi' bricht gowd thy dear hair;
I'll busk ye sae braw an' sae bonnie,

An' mak' ye the toast o' the toon,"
But aye, Wi' a smile, she Wad murmur —

" I'd raither my aul' silken goon."

A Whiff o' the Doric 67

O, dinna ye tempt me sae sairly,

Ye ken *t ">a^ ne'er Jee aoa,
For ne'er could ye mak' me a lady

Tho' buskit in cleddin' sae braw ;
I'm nocht but a peer wand'rin' gangrel,

Whose hert mayna feel love's sweet stoun' " ;
An' sair was my hert u)i' her sobbin' —

The lass ioi' the aul' silken goon.

I faulded her close as I whispered,

" Dear lass, gin ye' II nae bide wi' me,
Where Love calls I surely maun follow,

So I'll hae tae wander wi' thee."
Her een like the stars Were a-shinin',

An' witchin' her voice's sweet tune,
O! gled is my hert noo I've wedded

The lass wi' the aul' silken goon.

ODD

68 A Whiff o' the Doric

A ROAMER'S SANG.

J'M peer f the pooch as a tinker,

An' sair hattden doon for my sins,
But I'm rich when I roam oWer the moorlands,
An' gether the gowd o' the whins.

I carena a doit nor a docken

For a' the world's galshichs an' gear,
Gin I hae the Win' blawin' caller,

There's naething I'd niffer sae dear.

Oh I gie me the glint o' the gowan,
The lilt o' a birdie's sWeet sang;

Oh! gie me the plash o' a bumie
That wimples sae blythly along.

An' gie me, when gloamin' is fa' in',
The lass wi' the lowe in her een,

The lips that nae honey can marra,
An' cheeks wi' the rose's reid sheen.

Then deep in my hert will contentment

Bide canty an' couthie wi' me,
An' riches will dower me — nae maitter

Tho' peer i' the pooch I may be.

A Whiff o the Doric 69

SPRING O' THE 'EAR.

'TTHERE'S green on the sough,

An' there's gowd on the whin,
An' sweet sings the burnie

That loups ower the linn,
O, blythe is the tune o' the lad on the lea,
An blythe is the sang o' the springtime tae me.

The lav'rock lilts sweet,

An' the teuchat cries sair,
An' the lad wi' the harras

Now whistles eence mair,

The win's soughin' soft, an' the sawin' time's here,
O, blythe gang the days in the spring o' the 'ear.

The goWan glints fair

In the e'e o' the mom,
While dews wi' bricht jewels

Her sweet cup adorn,

The lamb's bleatin' music now fondly We hear,
As blythly they dance in the spring o' the 'ear.

There's green on the saugh,

An' there's gowd on the whin,
There's joy tae ilk hert

In the soft soughin' win',
O, blythe is the wau^in fae winter sae drear,
O, blythe gang the days in the spring o' the 'ear.

70 A Whiff o the Doric

THE LASS THAT MILKS THE COO.

is a lass, a winsome lass,
A lass I dearly lo'e,
She bakes the bannocks, breid, an' scones,

An' milks the hummlie coo;
She milks the coo, an' lilts a sang

That's stow'n my hert aWa' ;
I fain Wad hae her for my ain,
The sweetest lass o' a'.

She waukens wi' the mornin' sun,

As blythsome as the lark,
An' bonnie, bonnie loWe her een,

Like glintin' starns at dark;
An' oh I my hert is lowin' tee

While haudin' at the ploo,
An longin', longin' for the lass

That blythly milks the coo.

I'oe roamed ayont the shoudin' sea

For mony a weary mile,
An' ne'er a lass that e'er I met

Could wile me wi' a smile;
But noo, alack, I fain would tak'

A waucht o' love's sweet breW,
Sin' I hae seen the winsome lass,

The lass that milks the coo.

A Whiff o' the Doric 7j

There's dootless ither lasses sweet

Wad kindly smile on me,
But I hae looks tae spare for neen,

Whate'er their looks micht be ;
There's een for me, she's queen for me,

See bonnie, leal, an' true;
I Widna nifer with the King

The lass that milks the coo.

ODD

72 A Whiff o the Doric

DREEPIN' AN' DRAGGLED AN' A'.

tinkler wife was a waefu' sicht,
Dreepin' an draggled an a' , an' a',
As she crap thro' the toon in the tail o' the licht.
An' the mirk was yokin' tae fa', tae fa'.

Dreepin' an draggled an a , an a',

Dreepin' an draggled an a',
But " Hey for the days when I was a lass,"

The days that are far awa', awa'.

Doon by the bucht o' the lambs an' yowes
She sat in the lythe o' the wa', the wa',

An' crooned tae her cutty among the breem cowes,
Dreepin' an' draggled an' a', an' a'.

The stars cam' blinkin' heich i' the lift,
An' the meen cam' peepin an a', an' a',

An' the nicht win's soughed as they spak' o' the drift,
But the auld wife spak' nac ava> ava-

The day dawn cam' wi' a cauldrife e'e,

An the wife lay happit wi' snaw, wi' snaw,

But dreepin an draggled nae care noo had she,
For her soul had driftit awa', awa'.

Dreepin' an' draggled an' a', an' a',

Dreepin' an' draggled an' a',
She'll sigh nae mair for the days o' a lass

Noo her days are deen an' awa', awa'.

Dreepin' an' draggled an' a', an' a',
Dreepin an' draggled an' a'.

A Whiff o the Doric 73

THE BONNIE STIBBLE LEA.

0 WER the bonnie stibble lea,

Where the winnin' win's blow free,
There I'd Wander, lass, wi' thee,

Sae canty in the gloamin' ;
Gowden stocks on ilka han',
In their ripened glory stan',
Far as wanderin' e'e may scan,

Or wanderin feet gang roamin'.

When the smilin' harvest meen
Floods the rigs wi' siloery sheen,
Fain I'd see your ain sweet leen

Come linkin' doon the loanin' ;
Fain wad I be your ain jo,
Gin ye'd whisper sweet an' low
Ye' II be mine thro' Weal or woe

Till life's long, ling'rin gloamin'.

Sae, bonnie lassie, ower the burn,
Dinna sit an' sich an' mourn,
Gie your saucy smiles a turn,

An' gang wi' me a-roamin' ;
Ower the bonnie stibble lea,
Where the winnin' win's blow free,
There I'd wander, lass, wi' thee,

Sae canty in the gloamin'.

74 A Whiff o the Doric

A SANG O' THE HEATHER HILLS.

f~} SING me a sang o' the heather hills,

An' the lonely curlew's cry;
O, sing me a sang o' the heather hills,

Wi the white cloods sailin' by;
An' I'll breathe the scent o' the heather wild,

An' list tae the blue-bells' chime,
As the rustlin' win' blows doon the glen,
I' the sweet-Voiced simmer time.

O, sing me a sang o' the heather hills,

Where the purple blossoms blow,
An' the sang o' the bee soun's drowsy sweet

Fae mom till the ecenin's fa' ;
An' my hert £ens sweet contentment,

Nae ither place can gie,
For my ihochts loup aye tae the heather,

An' the heather hills I see.

Then sing me a sang o' the heather hills —

The hills I lo'e sae dear;
O, sing me the sang that the lao'rock sings

I' the momin' lijt sae clear;
An the tune o' the bumie tumlin

V the sunlicht's glintin' gleam,
I can hear them a' when, far aWa',

O' my heather hills I dream.

A Whiff o' the Doric 75

FAIR FA'S THE GLOAMIN'.

PAIR fa's the gloamin',

Where I've been a-roamin'
Among yon green fynowes,
When the goWan steeds its e'e;
The mavis is singin' ,
His love-notes are ringin' ,
A -charming the hearts
O' my Peggy an' me.

The sun sank sae cosy
'Mang cloods reid an' rosy,
An' softly the win soughed
In ilk bir^en tree;
As nicht cam' a-creepin' ,
The stars cam' a-peepin ,
Tae licht up the way
O' my Peggy an' me.

O, gie me the gloamin' ,
The sweet-scented gloamin',
When Nature sae drowsy
In sleep steeks her e'e;
Then cares are forgotten,
An' sweet peace begotten,
As hamewith We wander,
My Peggy an' me.

76 A Whiff o' the Doric

THE HOWES O' BUCKSBURN.

\tWEET lilts the bumie doon the howes,

When gloamin softly fa's,
An' soft oWer a' the whinny knoiccs

The whisperin' west win' blows;
Where cushats croon their drowsy tune,

An' sweet the mavis sings,
An' mony a flooer at evenin' 'oor

Its incense heavenward flings.

Oh I here sweet Nature finds a home

Sae peaceful an' sae fair,
An' here I often love toe roam

Sae free frae strife an' care.
Where gowden leaves in autumn fa',

An' aye the burnie rowes ;
'Mid simmer's heat or winter's snaw

I dearly lo'e the Howes.

Oh I fair's the gowden simmer day

Among its winding braes,
While laverocks pour, abeen, their lay

O' joyous heaven-sent praise;
The woodlands ring, as wild birds sing,

Wf mony an echoing strain,
An' hill an' dale in that dear vale

Take up the glad refrain.

A Whiff o' the Doric 77

Here Nature's fairest tints are spread,

Sae rich, sae full an' free,
An beauty here is surely Wed

Tae ilka flooer an' tree.
Oh I ither lands are ne'er the same,

Nor can such thoughts arouse,
An' tho' I wander far frae home

My hert is in the Howes.

ODD

78 A Whiff o the Doric

O, COME WI' ME A-ROVIN'.

Q COME ioi' me a-rovin
A-doon the jemie den,
O, come u)i' me a-rovin

When gloamin's ower the glen;
The mavis noo is pipin ,

The burnie lauchin' sweet,
An' a' the noddin', sleepin flooers

Lie bonnie won oor feet.

O, come wi' me a-rovin'

Tae see the meen arise,
An' licht her bonnie silv'ry loWe

Ower a' the dark'nin' skies;
Tae see the birk a-gleamin' ,

Tae hear the soughin' win' ,
An' list the liltin waters

As they tummle ower the linn.

O, come wi' me a-rovin'

A-doon the fairy dell,
An' keek thegither cannily

Deep in the wishin' -Well ;
Hands fondly jined we'll dip, lass,

Syne as the clear draps fa'
Lot ilka hert sae fondly wish

The dearest wish o' a'.

A Whiff o the Doric 79

My wish will be o' thee, lass,

Tae hae ye for my ain,
An' gin ye' II wish for me, lass,

We'll never mair be twain ;
O, breathe thy wish sae softly,

As sweetly fa'in' dew,
My hert Will ken ilk whisper

Ere it leaves thy bonnie mou'.

n n a

80 A Whiff o' the Doric

THE AUL' GEAN TREE.

/V7OO chilly win's are blawin' £een,

While Winter hands his ain,
An' spreads his robe o' snawy white

On meadow, hill, an' plain ;
Bat by the ingle comer

We sit sae cosily,
Where a sonsie log is bleezin',

Fae the aul' gean tree.

It grew doon by the fyiilyaird,

When I wis but a loon,
An among its mucfc/e branches

Aft I spielt an' tummelt doon ;
An the geans Were aye far sweeter

Than I've tasted fae sin-syne,
An' the memories o' its blossoms

Roon our aul' herts twine.

It stood the blasts o' winter

Fae long ere I wis bom,
But like a bride in springtime

Wf blossoms Wad adorn;
An' there the Boldie biggitt

An aft the Robin tee,
For a' the birds were trystit

In the aul' gean tree.

A Whiff o the Doric 81

But noo, alas! it's vanished

Fae the comer o' the yaird,
An' its form is torn asunder,

An' the ones wha lo'ed hae shared;
Sae when the win's are

We sit an' feast oor e'e,
An' toast oor taes sae cosy

At the aul' gean tree.

D D D

82 A Whtf o the Doric

O, KEN YE THE LASSIE I LO'E ?

Q KEN ye the Howe o' the Gadie ?

O, ken ye the lassie I lo'e P
She's fair as the dawnin o' momin' ,

A rosebud her sweet, smilin' mou ;
A rosebud wi' fragrance unfoldin' ,

A ' drookjt wi' sWeet caller dew ;
O, ken ye the lassie I'm meanin',
The ae winsome lassie I lo'e?

O, £en ye the lassie I'm meanin' ?

The lass wi' the white silken goon,
The lass Wi' the een aye sae witchin' ,

The twa een o' bricht bonnie broon ?
I canna get sleepit for dreamin'

The hale lanesome nicht, thro' and thro' ,
O' dreamin', an' wa^in' , an' longin'

For ae winsome lassie I lo'e.

O, what wad I gie tae be

Gin ever she's thinkin' o' me ?
O, what Wad I gie tae be kennin'

Gin ever I'll ial£ her sweet e'e ?
O, what Wad I gie tae be fcenm'n'

The wye her dear hert I micht Woo ?
I'd gie the hale warld — ah! sae willin' —

For jist ae sweet £iss o' her mou'.

A Whiff o' the Doric 83

ROSES.

QH, I'd fill the world wi' roses

If I only had my way,
Wi' roses new an' roses auld
Tae charm us day by day.

The red, red rose for passion,

The white for purity,
An' the yellow, nae longer forsaken,

An emblem o' joy wad be.

An' roses pink We'd gather

Tae gie ilk blushin' bride,
Wi' the white moss-rose for innocence

That blushes canna hide.

In ilka field a garden,

In ilka, neuk a bower,
At ilka turn an auld sun-dial

Tae mark ilk fleetin hour.

Sweet rose leaves for oor pillows

Tae rest oor drowsy heads,
An' heaps an' heaps o' roses

Wad be oor fragrant beds.

Then Peace wad reign o'er a' the earth,
An' wars wad cease tae be,

An Love wad fill ilk gladsome hert —
// things Were left tae me.

Oh, I'd fill the world wi' roses,

Wi' roses bright an' gay,
Sweet fragrant roses everywhere

If I only had my way.

84 A Whiff o' the Doric

THE BONNIE BRAES O' COTHAL.

E2RICHT shines the sun on Cothal Braes

When autumn tints are glowin',
There sad remembrance fondly strays

Tae dream where Don is flowin'.
Oh, fondest hopes, oh, cherished dreams,

Sweet heritage of sorrow,
I would that I could sleep the nicht

An' never see the morrow.

Oh, I had eence a lad an' a',

An', oh I but I was cheery,
But they hae ta'en him far aWa'

An' left me sad an' weary;
They laid him doon tae sleep aleen,

Far frae his ain dear valley,
That eence was fu o' joy tae me,

Noo turned tae melancholy.

I canna bide the birfyen woods

Where aft we gaed a-roamin' ;
I ne'er gang near the dippin' well

Where We met in the gloamin' ;
The lonely nicht I twine an' toss,

An' greet an' long for momin',
Yet sad am I tae see the sun

The rosy clouds adornin'.

A Whiff o the Doric 85

Oh, sair's my hert on Cothal's

When autumn leaves are glowin',
An' wae's my hert in Cothal's howes

Where Don is sweetly flowm ;
For aye I sigh, an' aye I sigh,

An' by its waters sorrow;
Oh, fain Wad I lie doon an' dee,

An' wistna for the morrow.

a c n

86 A Whiff o' the Doric

THE LILTIN' LASS.

A LASSIE cam' liltin', cam' liltin' tae me,

An bricht was the glint o' her bonnie blue e'e;
An' aye as she sang she Was lookjn' ju slee
As a bird in the sweet o' the momin'.

She liltit sae sweet that my hert gied a thraw,
An' aye as she liltit it flew richt awa' ,
An', a' in a blink, deep in love I did fa'
Wi' the lass that was sweet as the momin'.

O, gin I Were giftit wi' siller an' gear,
O, gin I Were giftit wi' leamin' an' /ear,
I'd niffer them lichtly, withoot a saut tear,
For the lass liltin' sweet in the momin'.

The lassie cam' liltin' , cam' liltin' tae me,
An' bricht was the glint o' her bonnie blue e'e;
An', O, but my life, noo, sae blythly I'd gie
For the sweet liltin' lass o' the momin' .

ana

A Whiff o' the Doric

BY URIE WATER.

IBBIE connacht a' her coaties,

Blaudit a' her goon,
Tiggin' by the Urie Water

Wi' a neibour loon;
Aye she grat, an aye she sabbit,
Aye she sighed — " Ah, me I
What can I say when my minny
Casts her een on me? "

Ower the steppin' -stanes sae lichtly

Lap her silken shoon,
Till she'd slipped, an' in the Urie

Dabbled a' her goon;
On the banks the gowden gowans

Steekit ilka e'e,
While she lay among them sabbin' —

Wae o' hert was she.

Jockie vowed he lo'ed her fondly —

Peer, daft, lovin' loon;
Swore he'd wed her — ah I sae willin'-

In her dreepin' goon;
Tibbie siched an' sighed ju sairly —

" Ah I what will I dee
When my ain dear, lucky daddy

Casts his e'e on me? "

A Whiff o the Doric

Jockie faul't her in his bozie,

In her drabbled goon;
Kissed her ower and outer sae fondly —

Peer, daft, looin' loon;
Thro' her tears the smiles Were glintin' —

Rosy-reid was she —
Home they Wandered thro' the heather,

LoOe in ilka e'e.

ODD

A Whiff o' the Doric 89

O, CAUL' BLAWS THE WIN'.

CA UL' blaws the Win' jae the snau) hills o' Dee,
O' caul' blaws the win' on my true love an' me,
But warm lowes the hert that has love a' its ain;
It fears nae the blast o' caul' winter again.

Of we fear nae the blast o' caul winter again,
The wild driftin' snaw, nor the dour, drioin' rain;
Wf love's tender flame lowin sweet in ilk Vein,
We fear nae the blast o' caul' winter again.

O, wild roars the storm thro' the glen far away,
An' dark lowers the clouds at the wakenin' o' day.
But like the dear laverock that lilts o'er the plain,
We fear nae the blast o' caul' winter again.

O, caul' win's o' winter may roar an' may blaw,
An' wild be the nicht wi' its deep, driftin' snaw;
But warm loWe oor herts, We hae love a' oor am,
An' fear nae the blast o' caul' winter again.

n n n

90 A Whiff o the Doric

THE WEE BIT LASS.

Q HEARD ye o' the wee bit lass

That cam' to oor bit toon,
Wi' ne'er a shee to hap her feet,

An' ne'er a dud nor goon ?
She cam' when cocks begood to craW —

The 'oor had chappit three —
The dearest, sweetest Wee bit lass

That ever e'e did see.

Her Wee bit face is like the blink

O' simmer ower the lea,
An' O, but bonnie, when she lauchs,

The glintin' o' her e'e.
Her Wee bit nose pe scarce can see,

But sweet her Wee bit mou'f
I fain wad £/ss her, ower and ower,

The hale long day richt thro'.

Her Wee bit taes are saft as silk;

Her wee bit steekit nieces
Are grippit ticht, as gin she hands

A fortune in their lieCes.
Her faither sits an' claws his poW,

An O, but prood is he,
To hae the wee bit, sweet wee lass

To lo'e sae cantilie.

A Whiff o the Doric 91

O, blessin's on the Wee bit lass

That cam' to oor bit toon,
Wf ne'er a shee to hap her feet,

An' ne'er a dud nor goon;
But aye We'll cled her snug an' Warm,

Her faither dear an' me,
An' lo'e oor bonnie, sweet Wee lass

Until We baith shall dee.

92 A Whiff o' the Doric

IN THE HOWE O' GEERIE.

the bonnie burnie-side,
Where the violets shyly hide,
Aft I roam at eventide,

An' there I meet my dearie;

Roon oor heids the bonnie breem

Waves jist like a gowden stream,

Makin' life a joyous dream

Sae that we ne'er may weary.

When the mavis' lovin' note
Rings jae some sweet, leafy grot,
Thochts an' cares are a' forgot

An' herts beat licht an' cheery;
Where the myrrh-bush scents the breeze
'Neath yon bonnie birken trees,
Sweet the happy hour that flees

When I am wi' my dearie.

Ne'er a silken goon has she,
Gowd an' jewels ne'er will be
Half sae rare as her bricht e'e

In a' the HoWe o' Geerie;
Where the Gadie's loupin' tide
Weds Wi' Urie's waters wide,
There at evenin' I Wad bide,

An' wander wi' my dearie.

A Whiff o' the Doric 93

THE GOWD O' THE LAVEROCK BRAES.

HERE'S glintin gowd on the Laoerock Braes,

Where the breem blooms o'er the lea;
There's liltin' birds on the birken sprays,

But wae is my hert iae me;
An fair tho' the gowans blythly blaw

Tae the wile o' the lintie's sang,
I'm fain tae greet when the morn I meet,

An' the nichts sae dowie long.

There's glintin gowd on the Laoerock Braes,

As aye there eest tae be,
An' liltin birds on the glintin' sprays,

That sang tae my love an' me.
An bricht tho' the sun may shine at e'en,

An' saft tho' the breezes blaw,
I gang nae mair noo my hert is sair,

An' my looe far, far awa'.

There's glintin' gowd on the Laverock Braes,

An' oh I that my love could see
The bloom o' the breem's sweet gowden sprays

Nae mair I'd dowie be.
But wae's me, wae's me, wae am I,

An wae fa' the nichts an' days,
Tho' the birdies lilt in the birken hoWes,

An' there's gowd on the Laverock Braes.

94 A Whiff o the Doric

An oh! for the gowd o' the Laverock Braes,

An' oh! for the Untie' s sang,
An' oh! for the gotod o' the Laverock Braes,

An' the lad that bides sae long.
An' wae for the hert o' a dowie maid,

Thro' the lang, long dowie days;
Oh! wae for the lass that's left her leen,

Wi' the gowd on the Laverock Braes.

D D D

A Whiff o' the Doric 95

A WEE BIT DRAPPIE, O.

HEN wintry win's, sae caul' an keen,

Blow ower oor biggins dreary, O,
We'll roon the ingle sit at e'en,
An lilt ju blythe an' cheery, O.

An aye We'll tak' a drappie, O,

A Wee bit canty drappie, O,

We'll lauch an' crack oor thoombs at care,

An tak' oor Wee bit drappie, O.

Gin dour misfortune throw her mou

An at oor door come tirlin', O,
We'll quaf what Fate may chance tae brew,

An' oor ain wye gang dirlin', O.

So gin oor life be short or long,

An' whether sad or happy, O,
Let's aye jist lilt a cheery sang,

An drink a wee bit drappy, O.

a n n

96 A Whiff o' the Doric

WHEN GLOAMIN' CREEPS DOON.

the gloamin creeps cannily doon oWer the lea
I haud awa' blythly my Jennie tae see,
We meet i' the lythe o' the aul' ihactyi bams,
Wi' the licht o' the meen, or the glint o' the stams;
I feast on her mou' an' the lowe o' her een,
Weel kennin her marra teas never yet seen,
Wi' her smiles an' her wiles toitchin' bonnie tae see,
There's ne'er sic anither sae winsome tae me.

She's guileless as ever the lambs i' the Spring,

Wi' a voice liltin' sweet as the lark on the wing,

An' aft as I meet her I'm priggin' fu' sair

Tae haud me fae bidin' my /een ony mair ;

But aye she says, " Weyt ye till mither says 'Ay,'

Syne I'll gang Wi ye, laddie, withoot sich or sigh,

Sae jist cannily try her your fenny tae gie,

For until she says 'Ay,' ye can never get me."

Her faither, the concert aul' carle, says " Na,"

Gin I hint aboot ta^in his dawtie awa ,

But I carena a p/ac£ nor a farthin', nor baith,

I maun hae her ere long, be he never sae laith;

Tho' her mither aft sabs 'tween a smile an a tear,

An' vows for her Jenny I never maun spier,

Sae I couthily say gin sweet Jenny she'd gie

That oor ain dear aul' Granny some day she may be.

A Whiff o' the Doric 97

THE LASSIE OWER THE LEA.

A LASSIE cam' liltin' yestreen outer the lea,

I got a bit blink o' her bonnie, bricht e'e,
But she cuist up her heid fin she lootyt at me,
An' O, but I lo'ed her sae dearly.

She cuist up her heid, ay, an' wi' muckle scorn,
For I was but lowly an' peerly bom;
An' a croon or a coronet she micht adorn —
E'en tho' she be ne'er lo'ed sae dearly.

Her goon it was silken, an' gowd was her hair,
An' the lowe o' her cheeks the reid rose micht compare;
An' I priggit sae wistfu' a £fss she micht spare
Tae een that aye lo'ed her sae dearly.

She tossed her bricht heid, an' she thrawed her sweet mou',
An' gied me a glower that nigh stabbit me thro' ;
" My pisses are nae for sic beggars as you
E'en tho' they may lo'e me sae dearly."

I grippit her fest, an' I grippit her ticht,
An' swore I wad fciss her the hale simmer nicht,
An' tho' peer f the pooch as a wild tinkler wicht,
Ere momin' she'd lo'e me richt dearly.

She twined her aboot wi' her face in a lowe,
Her een like the bumie that lilts doon the hoWe,
An' her hert like a birdie was fluff' rin , I trow,
As her cheek tae my ain cam' sae nearly.

98 A Whif o' the Doric

She whispered, " Gin ye' II tak' yer han's off o' me,
My han' ye shall hae, lad, sae willin' an free,"
Syne she gied me a s^e/p brocht the tear tae my e'e,
An' the teeth in my heid dirled queerly.

I glowered at the lassie, sae sairly dismayed,
For little I k.ent o' the wyes o' a maid;
But she leuch as she ran oWer the heather an said —
'* That's tae ma£' ye jist lo'e me mair dearly."

The deil's i the lass, or the deil's i' mysel' ,
An' heid or heels eemist I scarce yet can tell,
But she's tethered my hert wi' her ain witchin' spell,
An', O, but I lo'e her sae dearly.

ana

A Whiff o the Doric 99

IN SOME WEE THACKIT HOOSE.

com is wacin' bonnie, O,
An' apples on the tree,
There's mony a bonnie lass, O,

But nae a ane for me;
An' I could lo'e a sweet lass,
Tho' peer's a wee bit moose;
An' canty we'd be aye, O,
In some wee thackit /loose.

There's roddens glintin' reidly, O,

On mony a gowden tree;
There's mony a smilin' lass, O,

But nae ane smiles tae me.
An' I could lo'e a sweet lass,

An' be sae kind an crouse,
When bidin' wi' my ain lass

In some Wee ihackit hoose.

There's roses sweetly bloomin' , O,

Wi' fragrance dear tae me ;
An' mony a lass as sweet, O,

Aft charms my rooin' e'e;
An' I could lo'e a dear lass,

Sae modest, fair, an' douce,
An' aye be canty bidin', O,

In some Wee thactyt hoose.

100 A Whiff o the Doric

THE LAN' O' LOGIE, O.

JN a the Ian o' Logic, O,
The dearest spot tae me
Is where the Urie sings sae sweet

Her sang tae Bennachie;
There Gadie brings her liltin' stream,

An swells the murm'ring strain,
That fills yon ne'er-forgotten vale

Wf memory's sweet refrain.

In a' the Ian' o' Logie, O,

The fairest time tae me
Is when the heather sweetly blaWs

Far yont tae Bennachie;
The drowsy hummin' o' the bees,

The lowin' o' the kye,
/ long tae hear them a' again,

Where Gadie's liltin bye.

In' a' the Ian' o' Logie, O,

The only home for me
Is where yon thacfyt hoosie sits

In sicht o' Bennachie;
The roses twinin' roon the door

Are twined aboot my hert,
An' scent the daffin' breeze that blows

Sae sweet fae ilka airt.

O, bonnie Ian' o' Logie, O,
O, fairest Ian' o' Logie, O,

My hinmost thocht will surely be
O' thee, my bonnie Logie, O.

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