Violet Jacob

“ I’ve seen the great airms o’ the licht
Swing oot frae Scurdyness;
An’ prood, in sunny simmer blinks,
When land-winds rase an’ fell,
I’d flee my draigon [13] on the links
Wi’ callants like mysel’. ”

“ For I’m aye that fear’d o’ a wumman’s tongue
That I’m like to forget her face.
[Pg 11]
An’ fowk says “Donal’, ye’re forty past,
I doot she’ll be fifty-three,
But ye maun settle yersel’ at last
That hasna a spare bawbee.
Oh, youth’s a ploy, but it winna bide
And a body’s gettin’ on—
What ails ye, man, at a thrifty bride
Wi’ a dandy bit hoose like yon?”
Them’s wise-like bodies I hae to thank
And mebbe they’re no far wrang;
But whiles ye’ll step frae a creakin’ plank
An’ doon i’ the glaur [6] ye’ll gang!
It’s warm, thae nichts, i’ the auld King’s Heid ”

“ The daft mune, like a feckless fule, keeks doon to mock the wise;
Awa’ in quiet closes the fiddle’s voice is heard
[Pg 48] Whaur some that should be sleepin’ are listenin’ for its word:
“Sae haste ye noo, ye rovin’ queyns,
An’ gie yer dads the slip,
Tho’ dour auld men sit girnin’ ben
There’s young anes aff the ship,
Come, tak’ yer fill o’ dancin’,
Yer he’rts at hame maun bide,
For the lad that tak’s a he’rt to sea will drap it owre the side!”
And aye the fiddle’s playin’, the auld bow wauks the string,
The auld carle, stampin’ wi’ his fit, gies aye the time a swing ”

“ Ye’ll scarcely hae the time to speak,
Men, wives an’ widdies, lords an’ weans,
The mair they get, the mair they’ll seek.
Ye’d think the vera warld was deav’d
Wi’ them that’s roarin’ for the mune,
Nae maitter what they’ve a’ receiv’d
Their mou’s owre muckle for their spune.
But when ye’ve lookit mony a year
Upon yersel’ and ither men,
Although to lairn ye’ve whiles been sweir,
There’s twa-three things ye’re like to ken;
Ye winna need to mak’ ado
An’ warstle wi’ the powers abune,
Yer spune’s the measure o’ yer mou’,
Gin ane is wrang, it’s no the spune! ”

“ But oh! the he’rt o’ a body bleeds
For favours sclarried [9] on sinfu’ heids.
Wait you a whilie! Ye needna think
They’ll no gang frae him wi’ cairds an’ drink!
They’ll bring nae blessin’, they winna bide,
For the warst sin, nee’bours, is pride, aye, pride!
FOOTNOTES:
[7] Croup.
[8] Swung, whirled.
[9] Spilt.
[Pg 17]
‘KIRRIE’ Comin’ oot frae Kirrie, when the autumn gowd an’ siller
At the hindmaist o’ September month has grips o’ tree an’ shaw,
The mune hung, deaved wi’ sunset, no a spunk o’ pride in till her,
Nae better nor a bogle, till the licht was awa ”

“ But simmer’s flittit an’ time’s no heedin’
A feckless lass nor a pridefu’ flow’r;
The dark to hide me’s the grace I’m needin’,
An’ the thistle’s seedin’
An’ my day’s owre.
I redd the hoose an’ I meat the hens
(Oh, it’s ill to wark when ye daurna tire!)
An’ what’ll I get when my mither kens
It’s niver a maiden that biggs her fire? ”

“ Losh-aye! what ails him, Bailie Bruce?
FOOTNOTES:
[15] Beetles.
[16] Whipping-top.
[Pg 31]
CHARLEWAYN [17] (Yestere’n was Hallowe’en,
To-day is Hallow-day,
It’s nine free nichts to Martinmas,
And then we’ll get away.
Old Song among Angus Farm Servants.)
Frae Hallowe’en to Martinmas
There’s little time to fill,
And yet there’s mony a warkin’ lass
Thinks a’ the days stand still. ”

“ Gars them think twice afore they licht—
[Pg 6] But I’m no carin’!
Yer heid’s a neep, [1] yer wame’s [2] a sack,
Yer ill-faured face gars bairnies shak’,
But yet the likes o’ you can mak’
A livin’ frae it;
Sma’ use to me! It isna fair
For though there’s mony wad declare
That I’m no far ahint ye there,
I canna dae it!
Life’s a disgust wi’ a’ its ways,
For free o’ chairge ye get yer claes,
Nae luck hae I on washin’-days—
There’s plenty dryin’,
But gin I see a usefu’ sark
An’ bide or gloamin’ help my wark,
The guidwife’s oot afore it’s dark—
And leaves nane lyin’. ”