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The pale lovely moon o'er the Lowthers was rising As lonely I strayed at the fall of the night Away to the far-stretching Ridge of Glengonar, The high hills to view in their mantle of white.

Old Boreas had swept them for days in his anger, As though he would crush them beneath his proud sway; But grandly they stood, with their brows high uplifted, Firm based in majestic, eternal array.

Then thoughts did arise as I gazed on the scene That lay bathed in the silvery light of the moon Of Flanders' torn fields that were once fair and fertile, Made barren and shrouded in sorrow and gloom;

Of men who went forth in the pride of their manhood, Aroused, by the call that appeals to the brave, Inspired by the noblest and purest of motives, Who fell on the field or were sunk 'neath the wave.

I stood all alone on the Ridge of Glengonar, Alone 'neath the stars that shone bright in the blue; And prayed to the Ruler of men and of nations To strengthen the arms of our gallant and true;

To silence for ever the roar of the cannon And sink in oblivion this era of pain, That in peace we might live in the land of our fathers 'Neath harmony, love, and prosperity's reign.

Wullie, Sandy, Rab, an' Tam Yae nicht when sittin' owre a dram Agreed when neist the day wad daw Tae tak' their rods an' trudge awa' An' try their skill wi' flee an' worm On bonnie Carron's wimplin' burn.

The mornin' broke sae fresh an' fair, New life was in the caller air; Owre Grey Mere's Tail the sun did peep, Tae wake oor fishers frae their sleep. Ilk yin gat up wi' bizzin' croon; Short time had passed since they lay doon.

They dressed fu' quick, nae time tae loss, An' sune were skelpin' through the moss; Owre dyke an' fence, through sheuch an' glen, Up, up, they spieled tae Enterkin: An' when at last they did get there A view they had ayont compare.

They had nae time the scene tae view, Sae hurried owre the mountain's broo, An' doon the brae they ran pell-mell Tae hae a drink at Katie's Well, "Whaur Black M'Michael's bearded lip Yince fain did dip."

Then doon they ran wi' muckle speed, Tae Nature's charms they paid nae heed, An' didna slack their pace a jot Until they reached the Lucky Pot[1]; Sae awfu' keen an' anxious they Tae see if luck was theirs that day.

Then walin' steps wi' canny care They gaed alang the hill-side bare, Whaur Kelt,[2], the hound, fell aff his steed When Harkness[3] shot him through the heid; The roarin' pool whaur he fell in Has since been known as Kelty's Linn.

There fore-nent them Stey-Guile stood, Defyin' time an' storms an' flood; They gazed upon its steepest side, Doon whaur 'twas said bold Graham[4] did ride, His pony shod wi' deevils' cloots; 'Twas maybe true. "They had some doots."

Owre Dalveen Hill an' doon the brae Richt cheerily they held their way; An' when they High Dalveen had passed They reached the Carron Burn at last; Then fast their taikle they gat oot, Their minds fair set on killin' troot.

Then Wullie, keen his skill tae test, Got started weel afore the rest; He banged oot yin, syne made it twa; When oot cam' three, lie croose did craw. "Come here, ma callans, gin ye wish, I'll show ye hoo tae catch the fish."

"But pleesures are like poppies spread, Ye seize the floo'er, its bloom is shed;" He thocht he was a fisher rare, But, strange tae say, he gat nae mair; An' then he cried "I'll bet a quid It's been the tail en' o' the tid."

But Rab an' Tam, mair skilfu' they, On pools an' streams their flees did play; They played wi' sic a cunnin' wrist The finny tribe couldnae resist, But lap an' danced at bob an' trail; Some e'en were hookit by the tail.

Doon by Stonebutt an' by the Brig, They landed fishes wee an' big; An' when they reached the Carron Mill, O' fishin' they had got their fill: An' here a signboard took their e'e, A maist uncommon sign tae see:

"Ginger-beer an' lemonade, Here as guid as can be made, An' if ye want some more repast, Dinner, supper, or breakfast;" These lines, my friens, depend upon it, Composed were by Grier the Poet.

The landlord there, a sober chiel, Wad hae nae traffic wi' the deil: O' aqua vitae he had nane; Sair did oor weary fishers grane; An' ere they rested on their hurdies, Hied owre the hill tae Tam o' Murdy's.

Tam o' Murdy's, Durisdeer, Was famed for Mountain Dew an' beer, An' ony ither kin' o' drink, But jist for them wha had the clink: For Tammy, tho' a kin'ly man, Could aye look efter num'er wan.

An' there they sat an' smoked an' sang, An' gill stoups toomed o' liquor strang, Which quickly put them a' at ease, In tellin' stories, maistly lees, O' salmon they had landed oot, An' hoo they lost their biggest troot.

Their pooches toom, nae mair tae spen', Their nonsense sune cam' tae an en', An' forced were they tae tak' the gait, Tho' they were in a muddled state. The moon on them was shinin' clear, When leavin' guid auld Durisdeer.

They wandered on, whiles up, whiles doon, An' heard fu' mony an eerie soon; The fitpath wasna' braid aneuch, They tumelt in the burn an' sheuch; They staggered in amang the dreels, O' turnip, kail, an' tattie fiel's.

An' tho' they had nae wish tae tarry, Their legs refused the drink tae carry: An'' doon on Carron's hichts they sank, An' for a time their min's were blank; Hoo they gat hame, what them befel, Deil yin o' them could ever tell.

MORAL.

When man is on enjoyment bent, O' aftermath he should tak' tent, An' no abuse John Barleycorn, Or life o' pleesure will be shorn.

In August, when the heather blooms, An' grouse are fairly on the wing, The scented breeze frae hill an' moor, Tae hunters health an' pleesure bring.

Then hunters meet at Auld Troloss, As they hae dune for mony a year: Tam Johnston ready taks the names O' beaters there frae far an' near.

The Laird aye greets them wi' a smile, An' shakes auld servants by the han'; Nae purse-prood autocrat is he, But jist a kindly gentleman.

Aye weel esteemed are men like him, An' loyal service they comman'; It isna siller, pomp, or power, But honest worth that maks the man.

The guns gae first; each finds his butt; Then beaters bauldly briest the brae; Lang miles atween them an' their hames— Their herts are licht, sae what care they?

They drive the Hoose, they drive the drain, An' next in order comes the mine; Success does a' their efforts croon, When Tammas Johnston marks the line.

An' thus the merry hunt goes on, Drive after drive they run them in; An' when they get back tae the Hoose, They ken their heavy darg is dune.

They there get coffee in their turn, Some hae milk an' some hae tea, Wi' routh o' breed weel spread wi' jam, An' a bicker o' the barley bree.

A few choice spirits meet at nicht Tae spen' a happy social 'oor, When ilka yin is blyth an' bricht, An' meenits pass like fleein' stour.

The gentry a' maun share the fun, Nae cless distinction dae they show; Tae Gracie's fiddle weel in tune They trip the "licht fantastic toe."

Carmichael is a canty chiel, Tae sing a sang he is'na sweir— The "Tinkers' Waddin'," "Spellin' o't," An' "Bonnie Lass o' Durisdeer."

Then Laidlaw sings aboot the hills, Up whaur the Wanlock waters rowe, An' "True till death," "The Eastern Star," An' "Jessie on the Quarry Knowe."

Miss Vickers an' Miss Jonson, tae, The auld-time sangs sae sweetly sing, Accompanied by the auld banjo, The fiddle an' the mandolin.

The auld wife in the ingle neuk Raises her voice in cheerfu' key, An' nicely sings "Woods o' Duirmore," An' "The Bonnie Lad that comes tae me."

Coachman Fraser, stalwart wight, Does neist a humorous piece recite, Hoo Tibbie lood an' lang did growl When her puir bit lassie brak the bowl.

Then Lauder, tho' he canna sing. Does fairly dance the Heelan' Fling, An' Hornpipes, tae; wi' heavy wear, His feet like hammers strike the flair.

Gracie gies them o' his best Till voice an' airms are needin' rest; Hoo he does sing, hoo he does play, It wadna dae for me tae say.

The 'oor is gane; some maun gang hame; They canna' stay the han' o' time. They pairt tae meet some ither nicht, For the happy days o' Auld Langsyne.

Chorus after every 2nd verse.

Durum dook an' doo an' dae, Durum dook an' derry O. Durum dook an' doo an' dae, Hurrah for the hunt sae merry O.

Tae the hunt! Tae the hunt! Come haste ye away! An otter's been seen on the Lowthers this day, An' brave lads are wanted the beast tae destroy, So it's Donal an' Archie an' Jock for the ploy.

They breisted the Lowthers like houn's frae the leash, In their herts an' their minds there were nae thochts o' peace; It was war, an' they cunnin'ly followed the trail That led them away for the hichts o' Powtrail.

"Tally Ho! Tally Ho!" was the hunters' wild cry, And speedily after the otter they hie; Thro' heather an' breckins, thro' threshes an' bent Regairdless o' danger oor brave trio went.

The chase it was stern and the chase it was lang Wi' the race tae the swift and the fecht tae the strang; They pressed him sae hard an' sae swiftly they ran He was forced for tae hole in the heid o' Pedan.

He holed in the broo o' a pool in the burn, Where water frae forking comes doon wi' a run: They had run him to earth, o' that they'd nae doot, The puzzle was noo hoo tae get the bruit oot.

Syne yin o' them stood at the heid o' the pool, Anither yin takin' his stance at the fit, While the third tried his best tae breck the broo doon, Makin' use o' the tae an' the heel o' his buit.

At last he cam' oot, makin' fast up a drain (For conveying the little springs intae the main), But Archie was ready, an' took a sure aim, An' knocked him doon deid wi' a big cobble stane.

Then here's tae the lads wha then did display Sic courage an' speed at the huntin' that day; An' lang may the tale roon the fireside be tauld

To the mournful sound of the curfew's note, On to the churchyard they go; Bearing the form of a dear lost friend "With measured step and slow."

A moment they pause the cords to adjust, Then lower him into the ground, While paying their last respects to the dead The mourners stand around.

Reverently they cover him up (Of mortal this is the end); Then sadly leave him in the dust "Where the tall trees sway and bend."

In the winds that weep o'er the lowly graves Where the ashes of forebears lie, And the requiem sounds from the crystal stream That is swiftly flowing by.

When mist nae langer hides the brae, An' rain cluds flee afore the sun, Wi' rod in han' I slowly gang Awa' tae fish in Mennock Burn.

Dear Mennock Burn! What memories cling Roon ilka bend that's in thy course; For happy 'oors I spent in youth I thank thee for them wert the source.

I've fished ye when the days were short, I've fished ye when the days were lang (An' whiles wee Davy was my mate, An' whiles it was his brither Tam).

Frae Mossburn doon by Whitchincleuch, An' by the path that maks Glenym Tae whaur yer waters when in spate Gang roarin' owre the Horseman Linn;

An' then a wee bit farer on (I min' we got a hearty lauch When silly Rab fell in the burn) Whaur waters flow frae dark Glenclauch.

Those happy days are langsyne gane An' I am weirin' on in life; My pleasure's a' in lookin' back: There's naething noo but care and strife.

When Nature fails an' I maun bend An' fade jist like a witherin' tree, Beside ye, gin I hae my wish, I fain will lay me doon an' dee.

On a fair summer morn when the sun did adorn The top of Glengaber, Glencrieve, and Glenglass, I wandered away to the hill and the brae, At the footstool of Nature a few hours to pass. As I climbed the steep hill by the pure little rill That trills its sweet song 'mid the heather and thyme My memory swept back on its well-beaten track To the days of my boyhood and friends of langsyne.

From the head of Glendyne I kept a straight line As far as the rock where the fox makes his den, Where the hill of the bloody bell stands like a sentinel Guarding the pass to the bonnie Monk's Glen. Nowhere I have been is such wild beauty seen As that from the spot where I then took my stand; It must stir the cold heart, inspiration impart, These marvellous works of the Almighty hand.

Where is the pen 'mongst the learned of men That could to the mind's eye its beauties array? Where is the hand the brush could command Its splendours so solemn and wild to pourtray? Freedom from strife and the cares of this life I find in this solitude has its abode; The soul it is free as the soul ought to be To commune with Nature and worship its God.

Song. Tune: "A Hundred Pipers."

Stranger—What's a' the steer in the village the nicht, An' what has gaen wrang wi' the folk? Villager—There's naething gane wrang, an' a' thing is richt; It's Meg gettin' mairit tae Jock. Ye see, when a waddin' taks place in the glen It is a momentous occasion, For a guid week afore't the hale o' the crack Is wha's bid tae the jollification.

CHORUS.

Then haste ye awa' tae the waddin' the nicht! Dinna miss it whate'er may befa'! Ye'll never forget it as lang as ye leeve, The lassies are buskit sae braw.

When ye're bid ye maun hasten awa' tae the bride If ye can wi' a denty bit praisent, For the lassie we a' dae oor best ye maun ken Tae mak' her doon-sittin' fu' daicent. An' the women folk a' maun see the bride's braws, Ken what siller she got tae a fraction; An' the mair that she gets the mair they are pleased, It gies them the mair satisfaction.

CHORUS.

The bride's freens meet in her faither's ain hoose, An' sit, if tae sit there is room, An' wait till they hear the fiddler's lilt That speedily brings the bridegroom. The minister then the marriage begins— As a rule he is tauld tae be brief— An' quickly he ties them a knot wi' his tongue They never can loose wi' their teeth.

CHORUS.

An' then it's the grand procession that's formed; The best-man leads aff wi' the bride, While the bridegroom comes on at the tail o' the line Haudin' close tae the minister's side. The fiddler leads at a lively pace, An' clear frae his strings does he draw The bonnie sweet notes o' that auld-farrant tune, "Oh, it's woo'ed an' mairit an' a'."

CHORUS.

The procession maun halt at the bridegroom's new hoose While the bride gangs in tae admire; Then a ferl o' breed is thrown owre her heid, An' wi' the poker she steers up the fire. The procession moves on, an' the auld wifies cry, "Eh, sirs, but she's bonnie an' braw!" The fiddler's tune at this juncture is drooned By the company's hearty "Hurrah."

CHORUS.

A' the wey tae the Ha', whaur the supper is spread, They mairch tho' a mile an' mair; Auld Bacchus afore them aye beckons them on, For he's routh o' a' guid things there. When the supper is owre the minister speaks On the joys an' the sorrows o' life, Advises the bride tae be guid tae her man An' bridegroom tae be guid tae his wife.

CHORUS.

Then "Weel may we be, ill may we ne'er see," Is sung by the guests in accord; At the end o' the roon, wi' a thunderin' soun', They frichten the rats frae the board; They disperse for a wee tae meet later on Tae hae a nicht's pleesure an' fun, For there's naething like daffin' an' dancing ye ken, Tae drive dowie care tae the wun'.

CHORUS.

The fiddler tunes up an' rosins his bow, An' sooples his airm for the jinkin'; At the very first note that soons thro' the ha' The lads wi' the lassies come linkin'; The bride an' bridegroom lead aff the first dance, Weel pleased wi' ilk ither, I'm thinkin', While the auld yins that arena sae fleet o' the fit Gang canny awa' tae the drinkin'.

CHORUS.

The fun an' the daffin gang on withoot check Till the nicht's turned intae the mornin'; They've even been kent for tae haud at the dance Till the sun the hill-taps was adornin'. But if dreich is the dance, the drinkin' is waur; Never heard is the craw o' the cock; For as lang as there's drink an' the jollity guid It's nae easy maiter tae stop.

CHORUS.

"But the drink gangs dune afore the drooth," An' the herts o' the tipplers a' sadden, An' ilka yin noo maun fin' his wey hame, For that is the end o' the waddin'. Noo dinna ye think that they're gien tae the drink, An' tae honour they're no weel behaudin'; They're leal an' they're true, their marrows are few, Tho' they tak' a wee drap at a waddin'.

CHORUS.

At dawn of day we sped away On the path that skirts the mine hill-side, Whaur Elvan Burn, wi' mony a turn, Gangs singing tae the River Clyde.

"When lazy loons did lie an' snore An' dream the gowden dawn away We lap the burn at Greenshields' door, An' breisted bauld the Wungate brae."[1]

Then owre the fence an' through the pass, That's cleft atween the Lowther hills, Whaur mountain air, sae pure an' rare, Blaws free frae Pedan's crystal rills.

Doon Pedan's vale straucht for Powtrail We gaed, an' in oor min's nae doot There was but what wi' flee or worm We'd land some bonnie speckled troot.

The sun shone bricht, oor herts were licht, We knew that we were better far Away frae city's din an' strife, Whaur Powtrail mingles wi' the Daur.

Three fishers keen as e'er were seen, Tae throw a line on loch or stream, Noo plied their rods wi' muckle skill, An' sune their creels began tae fill.

We fished the Annershy an' Squaw Frae noon weel on tae evenin' fa', Likewise Glenocher an' Glengeath, An' then we tramped across the heath,

Tae whaur the Toll Bar stood alane, Like oasis in a desert plain, Whaur weary fishers meet thegither, Tae rest or join the sang an' blether.

Like nectar was the landlord's cheer, Glenlivet, stout, an' reaming beer; But ere the drink could tak' oor brain We wisely took the road for hame.

Eicht lang Scots miles, an' uphill road, Besides o' fish a heavy load, We stauchert on wi' mony a grane, Vowing we'd ne'er gang back again.

But e'er a week its coorse had run, We thocht on naething but the fun We had on Clyde's clear sparklin' river, An' aff' we gaed as keen as ever.

Owre a hunner year auld, ye are still hale an' strang; Ye've seldom been kenned the time tae gie wrang; Tho' puirtith may come, an' misfortune befa', I never will pairt wi' ma Wag-at-the-Wa'.

Ye belanged tae ma granny when she was a bride; She coft ye an' fixed ye up on the wa' side; New-fashioned timers I've heard her misca' There ne'er was a clock like her Wag-at-the-Wa'.

When I cam' tae this warl' o' trouble an' sin, Whaur we work oor life oot tae keep oor life in, When I opened ma een, the first thing I saw Was the braw soncy face o' my Wag-at-the-Wa'.

It is easy tae see ye are no jerry made; Ye've been fashioned by workmen weel up tae their trade; The modern timepiece has nae chance ava' When compared wi' ma auld-farrant Wag-at-the-Wa'.

Many changes ye've seen since ye startit tae tick, Yer han's tae gang roun' an' yer wheels tae gang click; Ye sit on yer perch serene thro' them a' Steady markin' the time, ma Wag-at-the Wa'.

The mail coach has gane, an' the train's taen its place; We've Zepplins an' airyplanes fleein' in space; Wi' wire an' wi' wireless, an' X-rays an' a', Mony wonders ye've seen, ma Wag-at-the Wa'.

Electreecity harnessed likewise ye hae seen, Propellin' the ship an' the bauld submarine, Defyin' the elements, rain, wun', an' snaw; It's the age o' invention, ma Wag-at-the-Wa'.

In city an' country it's drivin' the trams, It will sune, I've nae doot, be applied tae the prams, The lorries and 'busses an' motor cars braw; What's next on the programme, ma Wag-at-the-Wa'?

Ye hae seen us in peace time, ye see us in war; The roar of the cannon is heard frae afar; The guid sword o' Freedom we strongly maun draw As oor sires did langsyne, ma Wag-at-the-Wa'.

The wecht o' oor blows the Kaiser maun feel Till he's seik at the hert an' ready tae kneel Tae oor brave sturdy Allies an' Britannia; Then peace will be lastin', ma Wag-at-the-Wa'.

Dear Wag-at-the-Wa', I hear by ye'r chime, It's time I was stoppin' this rummelin' rhyme; I'll blaw oot the can'le, on Morpheus I'll ca', An' I'll bid ye "guid-nicht," ma Wag-at-the-Wa'.

O' a' the ills we hae tae bear, The greatest is Curmudgeon, An' gin I had ma wull o' him I'd trounce him wi' a bludgeon.

He thinks that man was made tae mourn, Tae trouble he wad bind him; Tae ilk fireside he trouble brings An' leaves the same behind him.

He is the "daith's-heid at the feast;" He's always in employment; His greatest pleesure is tae keep Mankind frae a' enjoyment.

When we are on a holiday We want the sun tae smile again, An' gie's a joyfu' cloudless day; It's then Curmudgeon prays for rain.

To him, there's great men in this warl', There's equals and inferiors; He scorns the honest working-man, And fawns on his superiors.

He licks the rich man's dirty buits, An' never min's the flavour; By every means he tries tae gain The lordling's smile an' favour.

A bonnie lass gaes dancin' by, Wha's licht o' hert an' cheerie; He tells the next man that he meets She's anybody's dearie.

An' if he meets a sober lass Wha has nae smile tae greet him, He says "still waters aft rin deep, An' the deevil lies beneath them."

The lads are a' gaun tae the deuce Wi' impudence an' pride, man! Their lauch an' sang an' merry ploy Curmudgeon canna bide, man.

He is an elder in the kirk, Believes in fire an' blood, man; An' for oor sins wad burn us up Or droon us in a flood, man.

Curmudgeon is a thrifty carle, The siller he can hain, man; Tae catch the bawbees on the hop Curmudgeon's ever fain, man.

It maiters na' hoo it may come, Tae him it's always gain, man; Owre ilk yin's fauts he greets an' granes, An' never min's his ain, man.

Tae damp the fire o' age an' youth He's like a sowkit blanket; We hae na mony o' his kin', "Sae let the Lord be thankit."

Burns e'en had peety for the Deil, Deep doon in his vile dungeon; But Clootie is a gentleman Compared wi' auld Curmudgeon.

Down by the river Cree I stray This lovely day in June; The birds are sweetly singing. The wild rose is in bloom, The sparkling waters flowing From the high-land rocks set free In kingly style and glory by The bonnie banks o' Cree.

O, if I were an artist true I'd paint this scene so fair— Fields and flowers and shaggy woods, And streams and mountains bare. And if I were a minstrel bard I'd sing in praise of thee, The wild birds to outrival on The bonnie banks o' Cree.

Sweet river, I must leave you, And I leave you with regret: This glorious day upon thy banks I never will forget. I may again, if Heaven wills, Enjoy thy charms and see The love-inspiring beauty of The bonnie banks o' Cree.

Amidst the everlasting hills He loved so well, He met his end; what pain he bore No tongue could tell; No earthly friend was standing by, No loved one over him to sigh, No tender human heart was nigh With grief to swell.

And, yet, his greatest Friend was there, In yon' lone glen, Who holds Creation in His care And lives of men; To comfort and uphold him, till The Angels winged adown the hill To bear his spirit from all ill And mortal ken.

Gone is the last o' a guid auld Ban' That played in the glen langsyne; "Buirdly an' bauld like the hills o' their hame," Stalwart in body an' min'; For anything clever an' manly At gala or market or fair They could haud the croon o' the causey, Frichtit for naebody there.

Gracies, M'Millans, an' Tyler, Nicol an' Dixon, M'Kane, Hastie an' Harkness an' Shankland, Their like we may ne'er see again. Weel could they han'le their trumpets, Their notes a' sae sweetly in tune; Nae Ban' could tae them haud a can'le Tho' ye'd socht for a hunner mile roon.

An' yet they said naething aboot it, Sae modest an' manly were they: They never were guid at the braggin', Tho' difficult pairts they could play. They played at the sports an' the picnic, They played at the concert an' dance. Weel pleased if by honest endeavour They could oor bit pleasures enhance.

Happy were they a' thegither When met for a crack or a dram; Their mirth never mair unseemly Than the lilt o' a guid auld sang. Noo, alas! they're gane frae amang us, Nae mair will their music inspire; Maybe the Maister has ta'en them Tae play in the heavenly choir.

Dear friends, the news has come to hand, I scarce can think it true; With heart that's sore I pen my thoughts And send them on to you. We cannot read the hand of Fate Or what's in store foretell; We know not why his life was claimed, A life that promised well.

Fair as the noon of summer day, Or like a flower in spring, Or like the glint of morning sun That makes the wild birds sing; Such was his life. We had a glimpse That filled our hearts with joy; Alas! the rose but hid the thorn As gold hides the alloy.

When loose becomes the silver cord, And broken by death's strain, The body crumbles, but the soul Returns to God again— To where the wondrous might of love Is voiced in deathless song. Have faith: its power will fit our boy To join the angel throng.

And so, methinks, we should not mourn Or question dispensation; To know he did his duty well Must be our consolation. And while the months and years roll on His memory let us cherish, And ne'er forget our bright young friend Till mind and mem'ry perish.

Come a' wha leeve in Wanlockheid An' murn wi' me, oor Doctor's deid: Nae mair he'll cheer us on oor way, Nae mair he'll spiel the Gow'scaures brae

Tae his loved hame amang the flooers. Whaur he did spen' his leisure oors— Oors that were few an' far between, For sair he toiled frae morn till e'en

Tae free his patients frae their pain An' mak' the broken hale again; Wi' muckle skill he tent us a' Wi' equal care, baith great an' sma'.

A kin'ly hert beat in his breast, His love was great for man an' beast; Aye ready Fortune's smile tae share, The freen an' champion o' the puir.

On Nature's charms he looked wi' joy, An' earnest seekers did employ Wha gethered frae the mine an' glen Mony a flooer an' mineral gem.

He had his fau'ts, we hae nae doot; What mortal ever leeved withoot? They were sae sma' we couldna' scan Them through the virtues o' the man.

An' noo his earthly coorse is run; Nae mair he'll see the settin' sun, An' watch frae aff the mountain's hicht Day's glory deein' intae nicht.

The loss is oors; we murn fu' sair: Maybe his like we'll see nae mair; Till death's dark shadow dims the e'e Oor Doctor will remembered be.

The curfew's mournful tone was heard Resounding through the glen, And from the pathway on the hill The heavy tramp of men, Whose mien contrasted strangely with The glow of Autumn's sun, Bearing the form of a soldier lad To his rest so nobly won.

'Twas sad to see the cortege pass His dear old father's home, From which, at the call of duty stern, He sailed across the foam. 'Twas sad to see his mother's grief And hear his sisters weep, E'er the silver line began to shine Through shadows dark and deep.

They laid him down in the Old Churchyard, 'Neath the swaying, bending trees, Where green grass grows and wild flowers bloom 'Mid the heather-scented breeze, Far, far removed from the din of war, No more to feel its thrills; To rest in peace in the kindly shade Of the everlasting hills.

Oh! lay me doon in Wanlock; Untroubled I will sleep Whaur heather grows and the burnie rowes Awa' tae join the deep.

The friends lie there I kent langsyne, The kindest an' the best; Until the Resurrection Morn Amang them let me rest.

Dear lo'ed yins that I leave 'ahin, Oh, dinna, dinna murn; According to great Nature's plan Tae dust we maun return.

Oh! Wanlock, dear auld Wanlock, Beside ye I maun be, For God has planted in ma hert A daithless love for thee.

Near whaur Duneaton smoothly flows A namely poet leeved langsyne, A kin'ly, genial, honest soul Wha wove his fancies intae rhyme. A humble shepherd lad was he, An' ne'er aspired tae high estate: His name was never on the roll Amang the world's rich an' great.

In simmer heat an' winter's snaw He tent his flocks upon the hill, Whaur he could inspiration draw Frae tum'lin' burn an' sparklin' rill, Frae heather bloom an' wavin' fern, Frae lintie's sang an' bonnie flooer, Frae winter storms an' driftin' snaw, Frae thunder-cloud an' sleety shooer.

In simple words he sweetly voiced The joys an' sorrows o' the poor; 'Mang shepherd lads the country roon He bore the gree in social oor. A man o' independent mind, He feared nae maister, man, or lord; Aye strecht was he at mairt or fair Or seated at the social board.

Auld Scotland, why will we forget Tae render honour whaur it's due? Why will we fawn on gowd an' lan' Wi' naething higher in oor view? Let's fill a bumper tae the brim An' toast his mem'ry near an' far, An' ne'er forget tae honour men

The Nation mourns for K. of K.; Who from this life has passed away; His body lies beneath the wave, The soldier's found a sailor's grave.

The hero he of many a fight, Was stern, unbending, for the right; In purpose strong, he feared no foe; Ah, Fate! then why this cruel blow?

The Nation mourns; where can she find A man so true, so just, so kind, With brain and hand to guide the helm, And guard the honour of the realm?

Would he had lived to see the fall Of Europe's tyrants one and all, From war's fell grip the world's release, And nations crowned with lasting peace!

Sleep on, great heart! If we endure Like thee, our victory is sure; Thy shade will lead us, Nation's friend, Thy spirit conquer in the end.

The Angel of Death came silent and swift, And wafted your spirit away; And all that was mortal, with reverent touch, We sadly consigned to the clay. We thought of you then as the husband and friend, The brother who did not wax old, Whose rugged exterior never could hide The big, kindly heart of pure gold.

We thought of the last time we met on the hill And angled the swift-running stream; How we gloried and revelled in Nature's delights, And the golden hours passed like a dream. As we stood at the close of a perfect day Inhaling the mountain's pure breath, We reck'd not how soon between us would roll The dark, sullen river of death.

The summer will come with its long sunny days, The daisies will spangle the lea; The brooks and the rivers will sing to the sun As they flow on their way to the sea; The whaup and the lapwing will sound their wild note, The thyme and the heather will bloom; And all these allurements will call you again, But no answer can come from the tomb.

You have crossed o'er the bourne to the mystery land; No more will we meet on this plane; The joys of the bright sunny days we have spent We cannot live over again; Yet meekly, submissively, humbly we bend To the will of our Father in Heaven. To Him, with His infinite love for mankind, Let honour and glory be given.

She came like a ray of the morning sun, Like the gleam of a meteor at night, To gladden our hearts and fill them with joy, And her advent was hailed with delight.

As the fleecy cloud so pure and white, Or the snow by the tempest driven, Was her tiny form, in its perfect mould, In her eyes was the light of Heaven.

Too good and pure for this world of strife, Where virtue is often a name; She was borne away by the Angel of Love To the realms from whence she came.

No parents' love could keep this child, Nor grandmother's tender care: No setting had earth for such a flower So angelic, so lovely, so fair.

There are hearts bowed down in the manse in our town, As there are in the miners' cot, For the brave sons who fell 'mid the shot and the shell, Whose names shall ne'er be forgot In the Old Grey Glen; they proved to be men, When their lives so freely they gave; On the scroll of fame we'll inscribe each name, While they lie in the soldier's grave.

They hear not the battle, with cannons' loud rattle, No sound can awake them to fight once again; They have gone from this life with its bloodshed and strife, Their numbers are found on the list of the slain. Yet why should we weep, they have well earned their sleep, Altho' to the glen they will never return; They stood in the fight for God and the right, Then why, oh why, should we mourn?

Then all bereaved ones should be proud of their sons (And pride ought to smother each sigh and each tear), As Britain to-day is proud of her stay, When danger and death is near; Oh! Great Power Divine, pray hasten the time When all men shall know Thee and each knee shall bend; Then Peace like a dove shall descend from above, This terrible carnage to end.

Time brings its changes in country an' toon, We're conscious o' this when we tak' a look roun'; Guid men hae gane; gin ye len' me yer ears, I'll bring ye in min' o' the Auld Volunteers.

There were men frae Kirkconnel, sae buirdly an' fine, Though the maist o' them wrocht in the depths o' the mine, A fine set o' fellows, devoid o' a' fears, They made a guid third o' the Auld Volunteers.

Doon Mennock's fair glen, frae Wanlock's high hills, Far famed for their beauty an' clear sparkling rills, Cam' giants in stature; noo mark ye wha hears, They were real men an' true tae the Auld Volunteers.

Descendants o' famous on history's scroll, The brave men o' Sanquhar completed the roll; Wi' pride in their herts they looked back through the years, "These then were those" in the Auld Volunteers.

Captains Stewart and Wilson, M'Connel an' a', When they mairched oot the lads o' the heather sae braw, Thocht D.C., K.O.S.B. then had few compeers, Gey prood were the three o' the Auld Volunteers.

The Young Volunteers frae the vale o' the Nith, May their herts never fail, nor their airms lose their pith. As we hear o' their daurin', oor hert it aye cheers, An' we pray for the lads in the Young Volunteers.

The day will sune dawn, in the East an' the West, Whaur oor brave lads are gieing the foemen nae rest. The fecht will be owre when the morning appears, Wi' victory's croon for the Young Volunteers.

Some are awa' tae the Land o' the Leal, Forgotten are bullets an' deidly cauld steel, Whaur there's angels, bricht angels, tae wipe awa' tears, An' the watchword is love, wi' oor ain Volunteers.

Puir Geordie! ye are deid an' gane, An' free frae every ache an' pain; Frae tip o' tail tae glossy mane Ye were a beauty, An' when ye were upon this plane Ye did yer duty.

Tae draw an' kep, tae turn an' back, An' lift a hutch when aff the track, Ye werena feart yer limbs tae wrack But strained wi' micht: A horse like ye for daein' wark Ne'er saw the licht.

Shame! that a beast like ye sae fine Should e'er been pitten doon a mine, Awa' frae a' the gled sunshine. Ah! cruel fate, They thocht tae bring ye up again, Alas! owre late.

When ye gaed lame an' couldna' draw, They killed ye wi' a rifle ba'; I couldna' stan' tae see ye fa', Sae turned tae rear Tae hide my grief an' wipe awa' The startin' tear.

An' noo when in the grave ye lie I think on ye wi' mony a sigh; Owre milk that's spilt nae use tae cry, Say tak' yer rest, But this I ken, as low ye lie, Auld freens are best.

Song. Tune, "Bonnie Light Horseman."

REFRAIN.

I had a true lover, he gaed to the war; 'Twas a lasting farewell; here I'll ne'er see him more.

We were happy together on yon mountain side, Where we met and we parted; he made me his bride.

REFRAIN.

At Loos in the battle my lover fought well; Though wounded and bleeding, still fighting he fell.

No more he will wander his own Highland glen, For my lover lies buried on fair Flanders' plain.

REFRAIN

When this wild war is over I will go to his grave, The salt tear to shed for my gallant and brave.

Oh! bitter is my sorrow, and sadly I weep, And fain would I join in my lover's last sleep.

REFRAIN.

When God in His mercy shall call me above We shall meet and rejoice in His infinite love.

The life of one we called our own Has ended here. Here lies his frame; his soul has flown To grander sphere, Where pain and suffering come no more, Where silver waves lap the golden shore, Where the music of the angelic choir Falls on the ear.

His simple life showed noble parts From day to day: By love and trust, o'er all our hearts He gained the sway. Our love and care tenfold repaid By him, now "dear departed shade," Resigned to suffering, while he made His heavenward way.

The circling lapwing's eerie cry O'er the wind-swept mound, And Afton sweetly singing by Doth requiem sound. We'll leave him here with Nature's wild, Fit resting-place for Nature's child, Whose life was pure and undefiled, In hallowed ground.

Medley. Tune, "The Auld Hoose."

When first I heard the auld sangs 'Twas at my mither's knee; I'll min' her voice sae sweet an' low Until the day I dee. She sang the sang o' Auld Lang Syne, The Braes Abune Bonaw, The Bonnie Woods o' Craigielea, An' Nannie's Noo Awa'.

CHORUS.

The Auld Sangs, the Auld Sangs, I like sae weel tae hear. O, sing tae me the Auld Sangs Tae hert an' memory dear.

Yestreen I gaed a waefu' gait, I tramped o'er moss an' fen Tae haud a tryst wi' Bonnie Kate In Moraig's fairy glen. Ye Banks an' Braes o' Bonnie Doon, The Lass o' Ballochmyle, An' ye shall walk in silk attire Wi' Mary o' Argyle.

CHORUS.

Braw, Braw Lads on Yarrow Braes, Wi' Rabbie's Bonnie Jean, Royal Chairlie's noo awa', An' Jock o' Hazeldean. Gae bring tae me a pint o' wine, Get up an' bar the door. Guidnicht, an' joy be wi' ye a', My bark is on the shore.

When I was a callan jist entered my teens, Wi' my ain penny savin's an' help o' my freens, I managed tae gether a pickle o' tin Tae buy ye in Glesca, my auld violin.

I min' when I got ye hoo prood I was then, I couldna' been mair sae tho' laird o' the glen; As I lovingly cuddled ye under my chin I vowed I wad cherish my auld violin.

The first time I tried ye yer notes soonded queer, But at scrapin' an' shiftin' I did persevere; "The Last Rose o' Simmer" and "Father O'Flynn" I sune learned tae play on my auld violin.

I thocht when I'd learned weel tae han'le the bow There had ne'er been aic-like since the days o' Neil Gow; For Skinner or Murdoch I cared na a pin As I drew oot the chords frae my auld violin.

Ye gaed tae the concerts, the waddin's, and balls, An' encores were rife frae the pit an' the stalls; An' the youths wi' the dancin' were fain tae begin When they heard the blithe lilt o' my auld violin.

Tho' hard be my fortune an' sair be my toil Tae gain me a leevin' frae mine or frae soil, I'll sit by the fire when my day's darg is dune, An' drive awa' care wi' my auld violin.

When the Trumpet shall soun' an' the ca' shall go forth, Tae the east, tae the wast, tae the sooth, an' the north, When they that are ready shall be a' gethered in, I fain wad be there wi' my auld violin.

I'll sing ye a sang aboot the days o' langsyne When the thochts o' the past are the first on my min'; Then many happy days I spent when I was young In the Auld Thackit Hoose on the braes o' the burn.

My faither an' my mither, sae canty an' sae croose, Were happy wi' their bairns in their ain auld hoose; Noo they're sleepin' in the mools an' sair dae I murn, In the Auld Thackit Hoose on the braes o' the burn.

My brithers an' my sisters hae a' taen their flicht, An' they're far frae the bield whaur they first saw the licht; But I'm shair that in longin' their thochts aften turn Tae the Auld Thackit Hoose on the braes o' the burn.

Noo I'm gettin' auld an' doited an' I'm wearin' awa' Tae the land whaur there's nae pain nor sorrow ava', An' lanesome I'm waitin' till the Maister says, Come, Frae the Auld Thackit Hoose on the braes o' the burn.

Sixty years hae gane an' mair, an' yet I mind fu' weel, When I was but a laddie jist ready for the schule, The bonnie strappin' lassies an' the brawny stalwart men Reared amang the heather in the Auld Grey Glen.

Each hame was warm in winter an' cool 'neath simmer sun, Built against the hillside wi' routh o' lime an' whun; Nae drawin'-room or parlour but jist a but an' ben, Weel theekit ower wi' heather in the Auld Grey Glen.

Tae meet wi' yin anither we cheerily wad gang, An' be happy a' thegither wi' a guid auld sang; Tho' puir we helped ilk ither an' wad borrow an' wad len', 'Twas a rale communal system in the Auld Grey Glen.

The lads when gaun a-coortin' in guid hamespun were dressed, Wi' braw Balmoral bonnets, a heidgear o' the best; Nae hats wi' gaudy feathers had Mary, Mag, or Jen— They were cuddled 'neath a plaidie in the Auld Grey Glen.

Tho' customs, fashions a' hae changed the spirit's still the same, An' we're ready aye tae play oor pairts for country an' for hame, Oor dearest, bravest laddies we wullingly did sen' Tae fecht for love and honour an' the Auld Grey Glen.

Song. Tune, "Bound to be a Row."

Come a' ye jolly miners an' listen tae ma sang, An' then in pity drap a tear as doon the vale ye gang, For a puir unlucky chappie wha's been in mony a fix, An' is noo a powny driver doon in Level No. 6.

CHORUS.

In Level No. 6—in Level No. 6. Yer sorrows are nae far tae seek, In Level No. 6.

There are twa pownies in the mine, a braw an' bonnie pair, An' physically fit are they tae dae their wark an' mair; But Dandy wi' his funeral step, an' Bobbie wi his tricks, Mak' the driver's life a burden doon in Level No. 6.

CHORUS.

An' then the ruif is far owre low, wi' the hinger hingin' doon, Yer needin' stickin' plaister aye, for the dressin' o' yer croon; Sometimes ye think ye've got it, frae a hunerwecht o' bricks— Job's patience wadna' stan' the test in Level No. 6.

CHORUS.

Whiles when ye think ye're daein' weel, an' a sang begin tae croon, It's then ye hear the gaffer's plaint—"Is this a' ye hae dune?" If ye dinna get the ha'pence, ye're shair tae get the kicks Frae the gaffers or the pownies doon in Level No. 6.

CHORUS.

The miners doon in No. 6 are awfu' han's tae sweer; Gang and hear them for yersel' gin ye think that I'm a leear; There's the Billys and the Sandys, the Taffys and the Micks, Cosmopolitan is jist the word for Level No. 6.

CHORUS.

Wi' a' this fash an' worry, I'm seek an' tired o' life, An' I'd gledly gang an' droon masel' gin that would end the strife; But a worse micht then befa' me, for I'm nae freen o' Auld Nick's, Sae I think I'd better work awa' in Level No. 6.

CHORUS.

In 1908 we set ye up, A mechanism fine; We a' admired ye as ye lashed The water frae the mine.

Noo that anither's taen yer place Ye're reckoned second-rate, An' dark an' silent there ye stan' Until there comes a spate.

But when we ask ye for a lift Ye start aff wi' a roar, Sae keen are ye tae dae yer bit At Level No. 4.

When oiled an' greased an' packit weel, An' steady hauds the steam, Ye gang as smooth as ony clock Or ony poet's dream.

Tae pumps, an' horse, an' human kind, The kindlier we are The mair o' guid we get frae them, The less tae fret an' jar.

Sae let us aye keep this in mind When ilka spell is o'er, An' kindly tend ye while ye rest At Level No. 4.

New Song with an Old Title. Old Country Style.

As I was a-walking upon a simmer day I spied a bonnie lassie a-winnowin' the hay; Says I, "My bonnie lassie, true love for you I feel. Will ye wed and share what fortune brings wi' the turnin' o' the wheel?"

Says she, "My bonnie laddie, I'm far ower young for thee; My faither an' my mither they baith wad angry be Were I sae young tae wed wi' you an' leave their hamely biel Tae share what fortune brings you wi' the turnin' o' the wheel."

Says I, "My bonnie lassie, O! dinna say me nay; Tho' young you be, that is a faut that's mendin' every day; If ye'll consent tae mairry me ye'll find me kind an' leal, An' we'll share what fortune brings us wi' the turnin' o' the wheel."

Says she, "My bonnie laddie, yer offer tempts me sair; Gin ye can win the auld folks I'll hesitate nae mair, An' I'll lay by my winin's, likewise my rock an' reel, An' share what fortune brings ye wi' the turnin' o' the wheel."

Noo we've been mairried mony a year, an' happy we hae been, We watch oor children's children a-sportin' on the green; Let ilka lad an' lassie wha lo'e each ither weel Get wed an' share what fortune brings wi' the turnin' o' the wheel.

Song. Recruiting Call.

Arise! Arise! Britannia's sons! And forward go with flag unfurled, And help to crush this murderous Power That seeks to dominate the world.

Arise and answer to the call, And strike for freedom and the name Of manhood 'gainst a foe that's lost Alike to honour and to shame!

Then dauntless let your courage be Upon the land, upon the sea; Blood of the innocent cries to you For vengeance on the fiendish crew.

Fear not to fight, fear not to die In the dear cause of Liberty; Then righteousness shall be your guard, The God of justice will reward.

Song. In light vein.

'Twas in the guid auld simmer time, When birdies sang sae cheery O, Yae nicht I busket in my best, An' gaed tae meet my dearie O.

CHORUS.

Singin' fal the dal, fal the didle al; Singin' fal the doo a di dee O.

I met her comin' ower the muir, I was richt gled tae see her O; I kissed her twenty times an' mair Afore that I wad free her O.

CHORUS.

Her dainty heid weel filled wi' sense Aneath her cockernonie O; Her hair the jet, her e'e the slae, Her rosy cheeks sae bonnie O.

CHORUS.

Her lips sae sweet, her chin sae neat Her teeth sae white an' pearly O, Her form the fairest o' the fair, Her voice jist like the merlie O.

CHORUS.

We'll yokit be at Martimas, Tae pu' thro' life thegither O; That happy nicht we'll ever mind Amang the bloomin' heather O.

CHORUS.

Song. 1st Verse, Old Song.

Some die when they're young and some live to old age; Man is a play-actor, this world is a stage; Each one plays his part, and when it is o'er The Curtain drops down and he's never seen more.

He toils from the rise till the set of the sun, And the shadows come down ere his labour is done; Still he holds on his way till his harvest is o'er, Then the Curtain drops down and he's never seen more.

O, man breathes to live, and he lives but to die; His life's a short dream, with eternity nigh; His joys and his sorrows are very soon o'er, For the Curtain drops down and he's never seen more.

As we go thro' this world let us fight the good fight, Let us help one another and do what is right. If we all do our best there's naught to deplore When the Curtain drops down and we're never seen more.

Song. Tune, "Neil Gow."

Up in the sooth whaur chill win's blaw, An' aft betide rain, rowk an' snaw, 'Twas there the advent did befa' O' Wanlock's Buirdly Robin.

CHORUS

He was a rantin' clever chiel, Could gie a screed richt aff the reel, An' sing a cantie sang as weel, Wanlock's Buirdly Robin.

The fairy folk, a merry ban', Aroon his cradle bed did stan' While the Fairy Princess waved her wan' Owre Wanlock's Buirdly Robin.

CHORUS.

Years syne, in youth's bricht sunny days, He ran aboot the bonnie braes, Mang Nature's wilds he tuned his lays, Wanlock's Buirdly Robin.

CHORUS.

Like Burns, an' Hogg, an' Tannahill, He plied the Muse wi' muckle skill, An' aften did oor hert-strings thrill, Wanlock's Buirdly Robin.

CHORUS.

He's noo awa', far owre the main, An's added lustre tae his name; Oh! wull he no come back again, Wanlock's Buirdly Robin?

CHORUS.

Song. Tune, "My love is like a red, red rose."

REFRAIN.

Oh! bonnie burn, Oh! bonnie burn, Wi' water crystal clear, Sing sweetly by the hame whaur bides The Lass o' Durisdeer.

Though but a lass o' low estate, I care'na wha may hear Me sing her praise wi' a' ma hert, The Lass o' Durisdeer.

REFRAIN.

In Carron's wild majestic glen Flowers bloom the hert tae cheer, But the fairest flower amang them a' The Lass o' Durisdeer.

REFRAIN.

Wi' voice sweet as the lintie's sang; Melodious on the ear, Wi' een sae blue an' hert sae true, The Lass o' Durisdeer.

REFRAIN.

Though I hae gane sae far awa' Tae fecht for country dear, My fondest hopes are centred on The Lass o' Durisdeer.

REFRAIN.

A fairy guard frae Enterkin Is wi' me, hae nae fear! For I'll come safely hame and wed The Lass o' Durisdeer.

REFRAIN.

Song.

A kennan yont the Lowther Hills, In a miner's cot sae trig an' clean, A lass was born in sixty-twa, The gossips ca'ed her Bonnie Jean. She was her mither's pride an' joy, An angel in her faither's een; O! ne'er was lass in a' the glen That could compare wi' Bonnie Jean.

REFRAIN.

Then here's tae the lass there's nane can surpass, An' may a' that's guid befa' her.

Aye foremaist in the merry ploy 'Mang lads an' lassies on the green; Tae sing an' dance an' play the game, Nane blither there than Bonnie Jean. I've heard the lintie sing his sang, An' mony fairy dawns I've seen, But naething could the fancy stir Or touch ma hert like Bonnie Jean.

REFRAIN.

Yae nicht aneath the mune's pure licht That bathed the moor in silvery sheen I spiered her gin her hert was mine; "It's yours for aye," quo' Bonnie Jean. The years rolled owre oor heids since then Hae mony joys an' sorrows gi'en, But still I share them, yin an' a', Wi' my leal-hearted Bonnie Jean.

Song.

I've been in London and Paree,[2] I've seen the beauties owre the sea, But nane o' them could please ma e'e Like Betty o' the Strankly.

REFRAIN.

O' a' the lassies I hae seen, This I'll say fu' frankly, There ne'er was yin amang them a' Like Betty o' the Strankly.

O' Nature's charms she has full share, Besides her virtues are so rare That she wi' angels micht compare, Blithe Betty o' the Strankly.

REFRAIN.

Oh! gin I were a worthy swain I'd strive an' work an' siller hain Tae win her hert and mak' a hame For Betty o' the Strankly.

REFRAIN.

Tae comfort her owre life's short span, O, may she wed a leal guidman; For kindly hert an' open han' Has Betty o' the Strankly.

REFRAIN.

Glendoweran sits upon a hill, Sae bonnie, all alone; Ye'll find it gin ye tak' a walk Sooth-wast frae Crawfordjohn. An' when ye get upon the hill Amang the sheep an' kye, Jist ca' upon the farmer's folk, Ye maunna pass them by.

Ye'll see a bonnie lassie there, I daurna tell her name; For look an' airt she'd envied be By mony a titled dame. Her music fills the hoose wi' soun' Sae pleasin' tae the ear, It touches baith the hert an' min', An' waukens mem'ries dear.

The lad that wins this lassie's hert Will happy be, I'm shair; Wi' love an' soul-inspiring airt, What could he wish for mair? Then may their lives like pleasant dreams Sae smoothly pass away, Till frae the hill they hae tae gang When life has closed its day.

Come, cheer up, my comrades, an' never say die, There's nae cloud in the lift the wun canna blaw by; 'Neath the sway of a despot we never did sit, We've aye held tae Freedom, an' sae wull we yet.

A Tiger came forth an' Europe was his prey, For mony a year his cubs have drunk success to "the Day;" But the day will come roun', an' the biter will be bit, For we've aye laid the tyrant low, an' sae wull we yet.

Here's a health tae oor lads on the land an' the sea, An' may a' guid attend them whaure'er they may be! In the days that are gane they hae nobly dune their bit, In purpose they are still as strong, an' sae wull they yet.

Why should we sorrow for the brave that are no more? They fought for right an' justice, an' they've reached a fairer shore, Where we'll see them yince again when we prove oorsels as fit, We've trusted aye in Providence, an' sae wull we yet.

Wi' oor leal-herted Allies, then, hand in hand we'll go Till we've silenced all his mighty guns an' vanquished the foe; Then peace frae oor country may ne'er hae tae flit, We've aye believed that this would come, an' sae wull we yet.

Tune, "Kail Brose o' Auld Scotland."

I've been tauld by a freen—tho' I'm laith sae tae think— That the Auld Scottish Doric is noo on the brink O' passin' awa' an' becomin' extinct, The Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.

When I first saw the licht in a wee but an' ben An' startit life's battle tae fecht amang men, Fu' soothin' tae me was the soun' o' it then, The Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.

The days o' my boyhood sair trouble did bring (Time always carries it under his wing), Tae ease me o' pain my mither wad sing In the Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.

Weel rowed in a plaidie, an' beilt frae the wun', I coortit a lassie sae winsome an' young, I whispered my love in the auld mither tongue— The Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.

Where'er I may roam on the land or the sea Oor Doric will aye be the sweetest tae me; It cheers the lane hert and it lichts the sad e'e, The Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.

It's nonsense tae say that the Doric maun gang, For Rabbie has made it immortal in sang. Sae noo, my auld freen, jist admit ye are wrang 'Boot the Bonnie Auld Doric o' Scotland, The Auld Scottish Doric sae fine.

Wee bairnies in the city slum, the time is drawing near When in your lives of want and gloom the daylight will appear; There's men and women working hard; before their work is done They'll take you from your darksome home and place you in the sun.

CHORUS.

Then, cheer up! cheer up! Don't let your spirits go down! Always trust in Providence and never wear a frown. Cheer up! cheer up! Keep smiling if you can, It's an antidote for trouble in the life of man.

Now, all young men and maidens, in the heyday of your charm, Be sure and mate with those you love, 'twill save you future harm. But if a man or maiden gay should bring your love to naught, There's as good fish in the sea to-day as ever have been caught.

CHORUS.

You married men and women, who have realised love's dream, And now with quiver filling, "pulling hard against the stream" You strive and work, yet wonder how your offspring may be fed; Look up! the dawn is breaking; there are better times ahead.

CHORUS.

You old and grey and feeble, who have spent your days in toil, To gain an honest living from the mine or from the soil, You must be better tended here, on that we all agree, Till you glimpse a fairer Eden, and your spirits are set free.

CHORUS.

REFRAIN

Where, oh where is the Hindenburg Line That is drawn on the land and the sea? 'Tis a puzzle to find, this Hindenburg Line, Oh where! Oh where can it be?

Where, Oh where is the Hindenburg Line Where Hindenburg's going to stand And fight with his might against all that is right, All for love of his own Vaterland? Where, etc.

Billy and Sandy, and Davy and Pat, Along with their comrades of France, Are trying to find this wonderful line, And make the old Hindenburg dance. Where, etc.

If Hindenburg waits on the Hindenburg Line, His dangers increase without doubt, For the Yankees will find him and surely compel The boasting old cuss to get out. Where, etc.

Forward! the brave of the mountain and valley; Forward! the brave of the country and town; Forward! the bravest and best of the city; Forward to glory and deathless renown!

Know that we're fighting for honour and freedom. Know that we strike in humanity's cause; Blood of the innocent bids us remember To stand for the right and humanity's laws.

Count not the cost in the brave who have fallen; For them the dark night with its trial is o'er; For we must fight on till the clarion call Of the Right shall be heard from shore unto shore.

Free the white slaves from the power of the tyrant! Drive down oppression in every land! Know that by honest and dauntless endeavour We nations can bind in a glorious band.

Song.

Some foolishly wander across the wide billows, Allured by the gold-bearing streams of the West, They dream California can yield them a pillow, Whereon they in safety and comfort may rest.

CHORUS.

But Wanlock, dear Wanlock, I'll not leave thy waters; My home is beside thee, The home I lo'e best.

When spring's gentle sun o'er the Lowthers is rising, When summer wi' verdure their still sides has dressed, I'll wander these glens, foreign landscapes despising, For these are the scenes still most dear to my breast.

CHORUS.

'Tis true that we dwell where the stormy winds gather, And thunder-clouds burst on the wild mountain's crest, But, Oh! to reside near the home of my fathers Is dearer to me than the gold of the West.

CHORUS.

In autumn we'll roam through the sweet blooming heather That clothes the Auld Dod in a bright crimson vest; And in winter, wi' wife and bairns gathered together, Around our warm ingle we'll sing and be blest.

CHORUS.

Then Wanlock, dear Wanlock, I'll not leave thy waters; For even in death down beside Thee I'll rest.

Song.

I'll sing o' a cronie wha dearly I lo'e; His virtues are mony, his vices are few. Treat him fair an' ye'll find him as quiet as a lamb; It's a pleesure tae meet wi' ma Auld Cronie Tam.

REFRAIN

Ma Auld Cronie Tam, Ma Auld Cronie Tam, It inspires me tae meet Wi' ma Auld Cronie Tam.

When he plays his auld fiddle it mak's ma hert thrill; Ma faith! he can han'le the bow wi' some skill. Ye may travel owre Scotland an' farer may gang Ere ye meet wi' the match o' in a Auld Cronie Tam.

REFRAIN

Tam is humble an' honest an' canna thole pride, He never believed in a great show ootside; An' people wha jist mak' religion a sham Will ne'er be admired by ma Auld Cronie Tam.

REFRAIN.

He aye tries his best, an' nae man can dae mair; But in spite o' it a' he is still 'mang the puir. Weel he kens that oor great social system is wrang, An' wad fain see it mended, ma Auld Cronie Tam.

REFRAIN.

I hae roamed on the moors an' the bonnie steep hills, I hae listened tae sang-birds an' sweet rimpling rills; Oh! sae happy I've been in the simmer days lang, Wi' auld Nature's delichts an' ma Auld Cronie Tam.

REFRAIN.

I sing wi' great pleasure the sangs frae his pen, A credit is he tae oor dear auld grey glen. Noo, freens, come an' join in the lilt o' ma sang As I sing in the praise o' ma Auld Cronie Tam.

REFRAIN.

Song. Tune, "Hot Ashfelt."

When they left the mother country to fight the barb'rous Hun We knew they never would turn back till victory was won; The fathers, mothers, sisters, wives were loath to say good-bye To the gallant soldier-laddies in the H.L.I.

CHORUS.

You may talk about your Gordons and your Irish Fusiliers, Your Black Watch and your Royal Scots and famous Grenadiers; But for lads who meet the foemen with courage bounding high, There's none can beat the laddies in the H.L.I.

And when they'd crossed the briny and were marching through Boulogne, And striding on light-hearted, "Tipperary" for their song, The Ma'moiselles in ecstasy admiringly did cry, "Oh! see the bonnie laddies of the H.L.I."

CHORUS.

When at their post of danger 'midst the roar of shot and shell, With poison gas discharging fumes as from the pit of hell, On their courage and their steadiness commanders could rely, For devoid of funk were laddies in the H.L.I.

CHORUS.

And when the order to advance came sounding low and clear Our gallant Highland laddies answered gaily with a cheer, Then at the foemen boldly rushed, their motto "do or die," And dauntless were the laddies in the H.L.I.

CHORUS.

All honour to that glorious band who fell to rise no more! They died for Right and Justice, and they've reached a fairer shore, Where the brave shall meet together without a tear or sigh, There we'll find those gallant laddies of the H.L.I.

CHORUS.

Song. Tune, "Yellow-haired Laddie."

The brave Lads o' Sanquhar Tae the war hae a' gane, Tae fecht for oor freedom, Oor country an' hame. When duty did ca' them They answered the ca', An' the Brave Lads o' Sanquhar Will conquer or fa'.

The Brave Lads o' Sanquhar Remember fu' weel Cameron an' Renwick, an' Crichton o' Peel— Names Time wi' its changes Will never efface An' the Brave Lads o' Sanquhar Will never disgrace.

They are fearless an' strong As the best in the lan', Aye steady an' sure At the word o' comman'; Tae honour an' kindred They never were fause: An' shooder tae shooder a' In a guid cause.

Fu' mony o' the leal An' the true hae "gane west" Tae reap their reward an' Their nobly won rest. Their mem'ry wi' laurels, Bricht laurels, we'll croon, Tho' sair be oor herts in The Auld Burgh Toon.

Tune: "Kirkconnell Lea."

When mist nae langer hides the lift, An' rain cluds flee afore the sun, Wi' staff in han' I slowly gang Tae muse on thee, sweet Mennock Burn.

REFRAIN.

Sweet Mennock Burn that springs sae clear Frae oot the Lowther Hills sae hie, The happy days I'll ever min' That I in youth hae spent by thee.

Dear Mennock Burn, what memories cling Aroun' thy bonnie wuds an' braes; Near thee the Muirlan' Bard was born, That sang sae sweetly in thy praise.

REFRAIN.

Those happy days are langsyne gane, An' I am wearin' on in life, My pleesures a' lie in the past, There's naething noo but care an' strife.

REFRAIN.

When Nature fails an' I maun bend, An' fade like ony witherin' tree, Beside ye gin I hae my wish, I fain wad streik me doon an' dee.

REFRAIN.

Some look on this life wi' a smile, While ithers look on't wi' a froon, Some are up in this warl', While some in this warl' are doon. We're tauld that contentment is gain, A virtue we ocht tae acquire, But the worker is nae worth the name Wha wadna tae better aspire.

Some thoosans in mansions are rich, Hae mair than they ever can need, While millions are leevin' in slums, An' lackin' their daily breid. It's a terrible state o' affairs; Will ye no mak' an effort tae mend it? Will ye stan' wi' the pooer in yer han' An' no strike a blow that wad end it?

Dinna tell me ye hae'na the pooer, An' likewise ye hae'na the pence; It's as easy tae prove ye've the pooer, As it is that ye hae'na the sense. A change is required in oor laws, An wha dae ye ettle tae mak' it? Not the privileged class, wha hae ruled ye sae lang, Though that is the class ye've aye backit.

Yer leaders are guid as they're true, Still ye cater tae prejudice hoary, Tho' yer conscience maun cry ye are wrang, Ye vote for a Whig or a Tory. It's aneuch tae mak' angels weep, An' reformers turn in the grave When the workers gang beckin' an' booin', An' playin' the fool an' the knave.

Noo yer guid auld Pioneer's[1] gane; Ne'er will his memory sink; If ye've ony respect for his name Try an' be able tae think. Guid-bye the noo, I houp ye will men', But railly it's no tae be wunner't That freens wha hae yer interests at hert Canna' but sometimes be scunner't.

Dear cronie, we are met the nicht Tae drink yer health for auld langsyne; Wi' social crack and canty sang We fain wad a' oor sorrows tyne.

Gin ye had been amang us noo Oor melodies wad soun' mair sweet, Yer kin'ly voice wad add the note Tae mak' the harmony complete.

Burns tells us "Man was made tae murn," Wi' that we dinna aye agree, For here are we five chaps the nicht As blithe an' merry as can be.

Some find this warl' drear an' dark Frae cradle onward tae the tomb; A touch o' kindness noo an' then Breaks through the seeming cheerless gloom.

Sae as we travel doon the vale Let's help each ither a' we can, An' never slicht tho' puir he be "The social, freenly honest man."

Here's health again! Lang may ye leeve! Hale be yer min', hale be yer hert! An' may prosperity be yours, An' aye the honest manly pairt.

In the depths of the mine the miner toils, Far from the light of the day; To earn a crust for those he loves He works while work he may; For the years roll on and vitality wanes, Ere the need of his labour be gone, So he wills to work while his strength holds out, For he thinks not of self alone.

The thought of danger or death in the mine Never daunts his mind or his heart, And strong is the swing of his brawny arms As he nobly plays his part. He holds at his task with a firm resolve, For he's one of a sterling breed, To provide the nation with what she requires In the darkest hour of her need.

When invasion threatens Britannia's shores He is ready to do or to die, And Britannia knows that in times of stress She can on the miner rely To uphold the honour of Right and Truth, To defend his country and hearth; Thank God for men with a heart like his, They are surely the salt of the earth.

Our country is rich by the sweat of his brow, And it's needless saying we can't Provide for the miner and see that his days Are free from the shadow of want; And when old age comes with palsied hand He may rest from his labour until The angels bear him away to the land Where he'll work to his Father's will.

Love! O sacred sentiment, To bless mankind thou'rt surely meant, Hope and joy and comfort giving; Love alone makes life worth living.

Brave men fight and brave men die For kindred, home, and country; They count no sacrifice too great To make for thee and liberty.

In times of peace, in times of war, Thy influence outspreading far Doth teach to play the Christian part, To soothe and heal the wounded heart.

Thro' life with all its ups and downs, When fortune smiles or when it frowns, Thou dost thy kindly vigil keep To laugh or comfort those that weep.

No tongue can ever tell thy worth; Thou art the grandest power on earth, The greatest blessing ever given; For thee our thanks ascend to heaven.

When cronies meet aroon the tee, The roarin' game's the game for me, Owre ither games it bears the gree; Then leeze me on the Curlin'.

It brings the red bluid tae the broo, Ye canna weel be doon o' moo, When bluid yer veins gangs coorsin' thro', When at the game o' Curlin'.

Gin ye wad please yer worthy skip, Stan' firm in natch an' dinna slip, Direct yer stane straucht frae the hip, When ye are at the Curlin'.

An' if he wants't a wee bit looder, Jist draw yer stane richt tae the shooder, Or he will say ye hae'na pooder, For the manly game o' Curlin'.

Gin ye expect tae win the cup, On besoms ye maun haud the grup, An' aye be there tae soop it up, When ye are at the Curlin'.

An' when ye're at the soopin' game Min' an' soop afore the stane, Or ye've nae yin but yersel' tae blame If shots ye lose at Curlin'.

Here, Lords an' Dukes wi' Rab an' Tam Meet as equals, man tae man; A heazer tae the social plan Is the guid auld game o' Curlin'.

Lloyd-George an' Haldane hae had a cast-oot, I dinna weel ken what it's a' been aboot; I houp it is feenished; we canna afford At this creetical time tae hae ony discord.

Oor country's at war and the need is fu' great Tae staun a' thegither for Freedom an' State; The slacker's resources, likewise profiteer's, At this time o' the day we maun jist commandeer.

Employers o' labour an' dealers in grain, Ne'er let country's need be yer ain selfish gain; Siller's no everything, that ye maun ken; Let honour come first in yer dealins wi' men.

Workers wha win by the sweat o' your broo A leevin' wi' pick, hammer, shovel, or ploo, Strike na the noo—'tis the enemy's gain— Try some ither wey tae come intae yer ain.

Let's remember the brave lads we hae at the front; For you and for me they are bearin' the brunt; An' dae a' we can tae keep up their herts, At least let them see we are playin' oor pairts.

If men o' a' parties my advice will but tak' We'll sune hae the foe on the braid o' his back; A bonnie new era we'll then usher in, And wi' militarism for ever be dune.

In oor lanely wee clachan there leeved a young chiel Wha had never been far frae his faither's ain biel; His manners wad lead ye tae think he was saft, An' e'en tae believe there were wairps in the waft.

'Mang his mates he was aye made the butt for the jest, An' they tried mony methods his courage tae test; But Jock's even temper they never could rile, He answered a' gibes wi' a braid sunny smile.

When war was declared an' the King called for men Frae the city, the county, the mountain, an' glen, O' the flo'er o' the clachan he got a guid stock, Strange! naebody ever yince thocht aboot Jock.

Then Jock disappeared frae the clachan yae day, Tae the nearest recruit shop he'd hastened away; An' the neist time we saw him we gat quite a shock, For a braw sodger-laddie they'd made oot o' Jock.

An' noo he's awa' tae the famed Dardanelles, An' we're prood o' the lad, for he's yin o' oorsel's, If he's spared tae come thro' nae surprise it will be If for valour he's wearin' the bonnie V.C.

One Sunday morning late in May I on the Calder banks did stray; Field and forest were in bloom, An' Nature all in perfect tune; A glorious sunshine, hum of bees, An' happy song-birds 'mang the trees; While from its bed the water's gleam Enhanced the beauty of the scene.

From scenes like this my thoughts still roam To childhood's days, to love an' home. I long, with longing almost pain, To see those dear old scenes again. I mind the time when as a child I roved the hills so free an' wild, Sacred to martyrs' memory Who gave their lives for liberty.

There Reid, the Muirland Bard, was born, Wha sang sae blithe an' cheerie O, O' hills an' glens, an' muirs an' fens, An' aiblins o' his dearie, O! Though I have wandered far from thee, An' tossed on life's deep stormy sea, My fondest memories ever turn To dear old friends by Wanlock burn.

The sun has sunk behind the hills, And upward throws his golden light, While shadows creep adown the glen To gather in the coming night.

On vantage ground, in pensive mood, I stand upon the heathery brae, And see the workers quit their toil, "And weary, homeward, wend their way."

Mine eyes behold the old Churchyard, Wherein now mouldering lies the dust Of men and women whom I knew, So kindly-natured, good, and just.

They lived their lives 'mid tranquil scenes, Like bloom on flowers they passed away; Their ashes lie 'neath the greening sod; Their spirits—where are they?

I know not, therefore cannot tell; No man can see beyond the tomb; I live in hope that by-and-bye All kindred spirits may commune.

Auld freen o' mine across the sea, What ails ye that ye never write? Ye canna hae forgotten me Or hoo tae speak in black an' white. Come, roose ye, man! an' gie's yer crack, I'm aye richt fain tae hear frae you, An' I'll engage tae post ye back Three sheets for yin, an' cram them fu'.

Hech! but the times hae greatly changed Since oor acquaintanceship began; Then blithely owre the hills we ranged In yon wee glen whaur Wanlock ran. Sma' thocht had we that stormy seas Wad ever rowe oor steps atween; When lichtsome as the simmer breeze We gaed an' cam' at morn an' e'en.

Noo at yer ain fireside ye sit, A douce guidman, 'mang wife an' weans, Rockin' the cradle wi' yer fit Or listenin' as the lassock learns; While I upon a foreign soil, Across the wild Atlantic faem, In lanely exile, cheerless, toil An' dream o' hame, an' dream o' hame.

In ilka letter that comes owre I'm tauld o' something changin' there; Some ferlie mak's me start an' glower, Some waefu' stories vex me sair. The lassies that we looed hae wed, The lads we kent are buirdly men; Some auld guidwives an' carles are deid, We'll ne'er their faces see again.

But, John, the hills are yonder yet, The grand auld hills we looed sae weel, That you an' I wi' lichtsome fit, Fu' mony an' mony a time did spiel; An' thro' the glen as blithely still The bonnie burn gangs wimplin' doon, Whaur aft we tried oor fisher skill, Or listened tae its eerie croon.

Ilk stream or hicht can raise in me Dreams o' the past that ye hae shared— Sweet dreams o' youth an' thochtless glee Ere we for walth or wisdom cared. There's Enterkin, Powtrail, an' Daur, An' Carron's Linns, an' Katie's Well, An' Mennock Water, Clyde, an' Snar, An' mony anither burn an' hill.

An' ilka time I hear them named Away across the surgin' sea, Like some wild bird but halflins tamed. Sick o' the toon, my fancies flee; An' in the gloamin' fa' yince mair, Yince mair I hear the linty sing, An' hearken' thro' the startled air The muircock flee on whirrin' wing.

Noo, will ye lay yer loof in mine An' mak' a tryst this day wi' me, Tae meet, as aft we did langsyne, This time twa years, gin I be free? Tae see yince mair the heichs an' howes, Dear scenes o' many a youthfu' ploy, Whaur young love pledged its early vows, An' life was nocht but smiles an' joy.

We'll see oor lassies a' grown douce, Oor auld folks wearin' thirt an' grey, Ilk dear kenspeckle face, an' hoose, Ilk singin' burn, an' sunny brae. We'll rin the hills, like herds gane wud, We're young yet an' as yaul as then; An' gin we're in the fishin' tid, We'll try the rod an' line again.

While lazy loons lie still an' snore, An' dream, the gowden dawn away, We'll loup the burn at Greenshields' door, An' bauldly briest the Wungate Brae. Far owre the Lowthers mony a mile, An' deep within his lanesome glen, Auld Daur comes doon in kingly style; We'll try nae waters but his ain.

An' when we pairt, as pairt we maun, Aiblins for ever—wha can tell?— We'll tak' ilk ither by the han' An' kindly bid a lang farewell. An' in the herts o' baith, I ken, The memory o' that day will be A link that binds tae Wanlock Glen Twa lovin' cronies, till they dee.

Dear Rab, your letter I received; Weel pleased was I tae hae frae you A promise that for yin o' mine, Ye'd sen' me three an' pang them fu'. Sae I will keep ye tae yer word, For I'm nae adept wi' the pen; Tho' had it been a business deal I'd haud my ain wi' business men.

Hech, aye! but things are greatly changed, Since doon the burns we ran thegither, An' fished frae mornin' dawn till e'en Or wandered 'mang the bloomin' heather. Ye're noo awa' across the sea, Wi' honours added tae yer name, While I, contented wi' my lot, Wi' wife an' weans bide nearer hame.

O' winsome lassies that we kent, The maist o' them are mairit noo; Some are weel aff, an' some are puir, An' fin' it hard tae struggle thro'; Some lads like you hae wandered forth In foreign climes tae win their breid; Some wives an' carles that we knew Are noo at rest amang the deid.

The grand auld hills are jist the same, Nae different in shape or form, Impervious tae the wear o' time, Unshaken by the beatin' storm. The muir-cock still fu' crousely craws, The linty sings upon the hill, The whaup's wild cry frae aff the moor Still moves me wi' a nameless thrill.

Auld freen', I'll gledly mak' a tryst, For I'm aye fain tae meet wi' thee, As aft I've dune in days gane by Afore ye gaed sae far frae me. An' though I'm weirin' on in life An' no as yaul as I was then, We'll meet an' spen' the lee-lang day An' taste oor boyhood's joys again.

Though in this life we aye maun pairt, Still hauds the paction we hae made. A freenship such as we enjoy We are agreed can never fade; An' when we close oor een in daith, An' intae dust oor frames decay, 'Tis of the spirit an' goes on Tae glory in an endless day.

Dear freen, I houp this wee bit note Will reach its destination. In it ye'll find a word o' thanks For your appreciation Of lines upon the dear auld freen. Whose death has caused oor sorrow. But tho' the cluds hang dark to-day, The sun will shine to-morrow On chastened hearts that can rejoice Tae see the sufferer free, Tho' noo we canna' see the licht For grief has blin't the e'e.

I hae nae skill in poetry, An' little ken o' grammar: In makin' o' ma ain bit rhymes I aften mak' a stammer. Sae ye may ken I'm unco pleased Tae hear ma piece was splendid, An' tho' I ken it had a faut I hadna' wit tae mend it. Sae let the creetics creeticise: When tired, they will forbear. If tae yer hert it did appeal, For them I dinna care.

Birthplace of Symington and Ramsay! Whose names in thee are household words, Who honour gained in peaceful times. With steam and pencil, not with swords.

Leadhills! what mem'ries cling around thee Of boyhood's day and riper years, Of social hours I spent with friends, Whose loss I mourned with bitter tears.