Violet Jacob

To Marykirk ye'll set ye forth,
An' whustle as ye step alang,
An' aye the Grampians i' the North
Are glow'rin' on ye as ye gang.
By Martin's Den, through beech an' birk,
A breith comes soughin', sweet an' strang,
    Alang the road to Marykirk.

Frae mony a field ye'll hear the cry
O' teuchits,[1] skirlin' on the wing,
Noo East, noo West, amang the kye,
An smell o' whins the wind 'll bring;
Aye, lad, it blaws a thocht to mock
The licht o' day on ilka thing -
For you, that went yon road last spring,
    Are lying deid in Flanders, Jock.

I see her as though she were standing yet
    In her tower at the end of the town,
When the hot sun mounts and when dusk comes down,
    With her two hands laid on the parapet;
The curve of her throat as she turns this way,
    The bend of her body - I see it all;
And the watching eyes that look day by day
    O'er the flood that runs by the city wall.

The winds by the river would come and go
    On the flame-red gown she was wont to wear,
And the scarlet lilies that crowned her hair,
    And the scarlet lilies that grew below.
I used to lie like a wolf in his lair,
    With a burning heart and a soul in thrall,
Gazing across in a fume of despair
    O'er the flood that runs by the river wall.

I saw when he came with his tiger's eyes,
    That...

Abune the hill ae muckle star is burnin',
    Sae saft an' still, my dear, sae far awa,
There's ne'er a wind, noo day to nicht is turnin',
    To lift the brainches o' the whisperin' shaw;
Aye, Jess, there's nane to see,
There's just the sheep an' me,
And ane's fair wastit when there micht be twa!

Alang the knowes there's no a beast that's movin',
    They sheep o' mine lie sleepin' i' the dew;
There's jist ae thing that's wearyin' an' rovin',
    An' that's mysel', that wearies, wantin' you.
What ails ye, that ye bide
In-by - an' me ootside
To curse an' daunder a' the gloamin' through?

To haud my tongue an' aye hae patience wi' ye
    Is waur nor what a lass like you can guess;
For a' yer pranks I canna but forgi'e ye,
    I'fegs! there's nau...

There's a tod aye blinkin' when the nicht comes doon,
Blinkin' wi' his lang een an' keekin' roond an' roon',
Creepin' by the fairmyaird when gloamin' is to fa',
And syne there'll be a chicken or a deuk awa' -
Aye, when the guidwife rises, there's a deuk awa'!

There's a lass sits greetin' ben the hoose at hame,
For when the guidwife's cankered she gie's her aye the blame,
An' sair the lassie's sabbin' an' fast the tears fa',
For the guidwife's tint her bonnie hen an' it's awa' -
Aye, she's no sae easy dealt wi' when her gear's awa'!

There's a lad aye roamin' when the day gets late,
A lang-leggit deevil wi' his hand upon the gate,
And aye the guidwife cries to him to gar the toddie fa',
For she canna thole to let her deuks an' hens awa' -
Aye, the muckle bubbl...

I'm Sairgeant Weelum Henderson frae Pairth,
        That's wha I am!
There's jist ae bluidy regiment on airth
        That's worth a damn;
An' gin the bonniest fechter o' the lot
        Ye seek to see,
Him that's the best - whaur ilka man's a Scot -
        Speir you at me!

Gin there's a hash o' Gairmans pitten oot
        By aichts an' tens,
That Wully Henderson's been thereaboot
        A'body kens.
Fegs-aye! Yon Weelum that's in Gairmanie,
        He hadna reckoned
Wi' Sairgeant Weelum Henderson, an' wi'
        The Forty-Second!

Yon day we lichtit on the shores o' France,
        The lassies standin'
Trod ilk on ither's taes to get the chance
        To see us landin';
The besoms! O they smiled to me - an' yet
 ...

As I gae'd doon by the twa mill dams i' the mornin'
The water-hen cam' oot like a passin' wraith
And her voice cam' through the reeds wi' a sound of warnin',
        "Faith - keep faith!"
"Aye, bird, tho' ye see but ane ye may cry on baith!"

As I gae'd doon the field when the dew was lyin',
My ain love stood whaur the road an' the mill-lade met,
An it seemed to me that the rowin' wheel was cryin',
        "Forgi'e - forget,
An turn, man, turn, for ye ken that ye lo'e her yet!"

As I gae'd doon the road 'twas a weary meetin',
For the ill words said yest're'en they were aye the same,
And my het he'rt drouned the wheel wi' its heavy beatin'.
        "Lass, think shame,
It's no for me to speak, for it's you to blame!"

As I gae'd doon by the toon when t...

There's a wind comes doon frae the braes when the licht is spreadin'
    Chilly an' grey,
An' the auld cock craws at the yett o' the muirland steadin'
    Cryin' on day;
The hoose lies sound an' the sma' mune's deein' an' weary
    Watchin' her lane,
The shadows creep by the dyke an' the time seems eerie,
But the lad i' the fields he is whustlin' cheery, cheery,
    'Yont i' the rain.

My mither stirs as she wauks wi' her twa een blinkin',
    Bedded she'll bide,
For foo can an auld wife ken what a lassie's thinkin'
    Close at her side?
Mither, lie still, for ye're needin' a rest fu' sairly,
    Weary an' worn,
Mither, I'll rise, an' ye ken I'll be warkin' fairly -
An' I dinna ken wha can be whustlin', whustlin', aerly,
    Lang or it's morn...

"O tell me what was on yer road, ye roarin' norlan' Wind,
As ye cam' blawin' frae the land that's niver frae my mind?
My feet they traivel England, but I'm dee'in for the north."
"My man, I heard the siller tides rin up the Firth o' Forth."

"Aye, Wind, I ken them weel eneuch, and fine they fa' an' rise,
And fain I'd feel the creepin' mist on yonder shore that lies,
But tell me, ere ye passed them by, what saw ye on the way?"
"My man, I rocked the rovin' gulls that sail abune the Tay."

"But saw ye naething, leein' Wind, afore ye cam' to Fife?
There's muckle lyin' 'yont the Tay that's mair to me nor life."
"My man, I swept the Angus braes ye hae'na trod for years."
"O Wind, forgi'e a hameless loon that canna see for tears!"

"And far abune the Angus straths I saw t...

Past life, past tears, far past the grave,
    The tryst is set for me,
Since, for our all, your all you gave
    On the slopes of Picardy.

On Angus, in the autumn nights,
    The ice-green light shall lie,
Beyond the trees the Northern Lights
    Slant on the belts of sky.

But miles on miles from Scottish soil
    You sleep, past war and scaith,
Your country's freedman, loosed from toil,
    In honour and in faith.

For Angus held you in her spell,
    Her Grampians, faint and blue,
Her ways, the speech you knew so well,
    Were half the world to you.

Yet rest, my son; our souls are those
    Nor time nor death can part,
And lie you proudly, folded close
    To France's deathless heart.

I dreamed that life and time and space were one,
    And the pure trance of dawn;
    The increase drawn
From all the journeys of the travelling sun,
And the long mysteries of sound and sight,
    The whispering rains,
And far, calm waters set in lonely plains,
    And cry of birds at night.

I dreamed that these and love and death were one,
    And all eternity,
    The life to be
Therewith entwined, throughout the ages spun;
And so with Grief, my playmate; him I knew
    One with the rest, -
One with the mounting day, the east and west -
    Lord, is it true?
Lord, do I dream? Methinks a key unlocks
Some dungeon door, in thrall of blackened towers,
On ecstasies, half hid, like chill white flowers
Blown in the secret places of the rocks.