BALTIC STREET

My dainty lass, lay you the blame Upon the richtfu’ heid; ’Twas daft ill-luck that bigg’d yer hame The wrang side o’ the Tweed. Ye hae yer tocher a’ complete, Ye’re bonnie as the rose, But I was born in Baltic Street, In Baltic Street, Montrose! Lang syne on mony a waefu’ nicht, Hie owre the sea’s distress, 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’. Oh, Baltic Street is cauld an’ bare An’ mebbe nae sae grand, But ye’ll feel the smell i’ the caller air O’ kippers on the land. ’Twixt kirk an’ street the deid fowk bide Their feet towards the sea, Ill nee’bours for a new-made bride, Gin ye come hame wi’ me. The steeple shades the kirkyaird grass, The seamen’s hidden banes, A dour-like kirk to an English lass Wha kens but English lanes; And when the haar, the winter through, Creeps blind on close and wa’ My hame micht get a curse frae you, Mysel’ get, mebbe, twa. I’ll up an’ aff the morn’s morn To seek some reid-haired queyn, Bauld-he’rted, strang-nieved,[14] bred an’ born In this auld toon o’ mine. And oh! for mair I winna greet, Gin we hae meal an’ brose And a but an’ ben in Baltic Street, In Baltic Street, Montrose!