Author Topic: Scottish Poetry  (Read 102772 times)

Sis Thompson's oldest

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #150 on: March 05, 2010, 07:24:19 AM »
Hey Stu!

History...............yes, yes, sooner or later I'll figure out a way to support myself by delving into history. It was my fave in school as well. I have a coworker who is a fount of information on the Civil War and has loaned me his copy of the Ken Burns series. Heaven!

I spent indiscriminately at the book store and am now the owner of "Caledonication: A History of Scotland" hilarious and informative; the Rosetta Stone, Teach Yourself Gaelic, which will be an adventure! And last but not least:  "The Feckin' Book of Everything Irish" explaining in clear and precise terms of a vast number of commonly used Irish slang words and expressions. Why? Because it was there and only $3.00! Also hilarious!

The printed page is my vice.

Good weekend to ya,
Sherry
The bad news? There is no key to the universe. The good news? It was never locked.

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #151 on: March 24, 2010, 07:46:18 AM »
Here is an amusing poem by Alexander Rodger, set in the days when horses had to be taken to the blacksmith to be shod - and persuading a girl to marry seemed a lot faster than today!

          Robin Tamson's Smiddy

    My mither ment my auld breeks,
       An wow! but they were duddy,
    And sent me to get Mally shod
       At Robin Tamson's smiddy;
    The smiddy stands beside the burn
       That wimples through the clachan.
    I never yet gae by the door,
       But aye I faw a-lauchin.

    For Robin was a walthy carle
       An had ae bonnie dochter,
    Yet neer wad let her tak a man,
       Tho mony lads had socht her;
    But what think ye o ma exploit?
       The time our mare was shoein,
    I slippit up beside the lass,
       And briskly fell a-wooin.

    An aye she eed my auld breeks,
       The time that we sat crackin,
    Quo I, 'My lass, neer mind the clouts,
       I've new anes for the makkin;
    But gin ye'll just come hame wi me,
       An lea the carle your father,
    Ye'se get my breeks to keep in trim,
       Mysel, an aw thegither'.

    'Deed lad' quo she, 'your offer's fair,
       I really think I'll tak it.
    Sae, gang awa, get out the mare,
       We'll baith slip on the back o't:
    For gin I wait my faither's time,
       I'll wait till I be fifty;
    But na! - I'll marry in my prime,
       An mak a wife most thrifty.'

    Wow! Robin was an angry man,
       At tyning o his dochter:
    Thro aw the kintra-side he ran,
       An far an near he socht her;
    But when he cam to oor fire-end,
       An fand us baith thegither,
    Quo I 'Gudeman, I've taen your bairn,
       An ye may tak my mither.'

    Auld Robin girn'd an sheuk his pow.
       'Guid sooth!' quo he, 'ye're merry;
    but I'll just tak ye at your word,
       An end this hurry-burry.'
    So Robin an oor auld wife
       Agreed to creep thegither;
    Now, I hae Robin Tamson's pet,
       An Robin has my mither.

    Meaning of unusual words:
    ment my auld breeks=mended my old trousers (pants, in some parts of the world)
    duddy=ragged, tattered
    smiddy=blacksmith
    wimples=winds, meanders
    clachan=village
    faw a-lauchin=fall about laughing
    walthy carle=wealthy rascal
    ae bonnie dochter=one good-looking daughter
    crackin=talking
    clouts=clothes
    gin=if
    gang awa=went away
    tyning=loss, disappearance
    kintra-side=country-side
    Gudeman=master of the house
    bairn=child
    girn'd=complained
    pow=head
    hurry-burry=confusion
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Mary

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #152 on: March 26, 2010, 07:53:13 PM »
That was a cute one!!! ;D

You do find the best stuff!

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #153 on: September 10, 2010, 10:44:07 AM »
Lord Ullin's Daughter by Thomas Campbell

A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry!''--

"Now, who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy weather?''
"O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.--

"And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?''--

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,--
"I'll go, my chief--I'm ready:--
It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome lady:

"And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry.''--

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.--

"O haste thee, haste!'' the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.''--

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,--
When, O! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gather'd o'er her.

And still they row'd amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,--
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismay'd through storm and shade,
His child he did discover:--
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!'' he cried in grief
"Across this stormy water:
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter!--O my daughter!''

'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore,
Return or aid preventing:
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #154 on: November 20, 2010, 11:03:47 AM »
It's been awhile since I posted anything here so here's one for you all!

Scotland Yet!
by Henry Scott Riddell


Gae bring my guid auld harp ance mair,
Gae bring it free and fast,
For I maun sing anither sang
Ere a' my glee be past;
An' trow ye, as I sing, my lads,
The burden o't shall be --
Auld Scotland's howes, and Scotlands knowes,
And Scotland's hills for me;
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three!

The heath waves wild upon her hill
And foaming through the fells,
Her fountains sing of freedom still,
As they dash down the dells;
For weel I loe the land, my lads,
That's girded by the sea --
Then Scotland's vales, and Scotland's dales,
And Scotland's hills for me;
I'll drink a caup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three!

The thistle wags upon the fields
Where Wallce bare his blade,
That gave her foemen's dearest blude,
To dye her auld grey plaid;
And looking to the lift, my lads,
He sang this doughty glee --
Auld Scotland's richt, and Scotland's micht,
And Scotlant's hills for me;
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi a' the honours three!

They tell o' lan's wi' brichter skies,
Where freedom's voice ne'er rang;
Gie me the lan' where Ossian dwelt,
And Colla's minstrel sang --
For I've nae skill o' lans', my lads,
That kenna to be free --
Then Scotland's richt, and Scotland's micht,
And Scotland's hills for me;
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three!
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #155 on: December 22, 2010, 09:48:23 AM »
Not Scottish but so what...

John Lennon & Yoko Ono

So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young

A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let’s hope it’s a good one
Without any fear

And so this is Christmas
For weak and for strong
For rich and the poor ones
The world is so wrong
And so happy Christmas
For black and for white
For yellow and red ones
Let’s stop all the fight

And so this is Christmas
And what have we done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so happy Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one
The old and the young

A very merry Christmas
And a happy New Year
Let’s hope it’s a good one
Without any fear
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #156 on: December 22, 2010, 10:08:23 AM »
I may have posted this before but it is worth posting again.

Here is a poem in Scots by Alexander Gray telling the familiar tale of "No room at the inn".

    Christmas Carol
    'Twas a cauld, cauld nicht i' the back o' the year;
    The snaw lay deep, and the starns shone clear;
    And Mary kent that her time was near,
    As she cam to Bethlehem.
    When Joseph saw the toon sae thrang,
    Quo' he: 'I houp I be na wrang,
    But I'm thinkin' we'll find a place ere lang;'
    But there wasna nae room for them.

    She quo', quo' she: 'O Joseph loon,
    Rale tired am I, and wad fain lie doon.
    Is there no a bed in the hail o' the toon?
    For farrer I canna gae.'
    At the ale-hoose door she keekit ben,
    But there was sic a steer o' fremmyt men,
    She thocht till hirsel': 'I dinna ken
    What me and my man can dae.'

    And syne she spak: 'We'll hae to lie
    I' the byre this nicht amang the kye
    And the cattle beas', for a body maun try
    To thole what needs maun be,'
    And there amang the strae and the corn,
    While the owsen mooed, her bairnie was born.
    O, wasna that a maist joyous morn
    For sinners like you and me?

    For the bairn that was born that nicht i' the sta'
    Cam doon frae Heaven to tak awa'
    Oor fecklessness, and bring us a'
    Safe hame in the hender-en'.
    Lord, at this Yule-tide send us licht,
    Hae mercy on us and herd us richt.
    For the sake o' the bairnie born that nicht,
    O, mak us better men!

    Meaning of unusual words:
    starns=stars
    thrang=crowded
    quo'=said
    loon=lad
    fain=want
    farrer=further
    keekit ben=peeked through
    sic a steer o' fremmyt men=such a crowd of strange men
    ken=know
    syne=since
    kye=cow
    thole=endure
    strae=straw
    owsen=oxen
    bairnie=child
    fecklessness=weakness, incomptence
    hender-en'=latter days of life
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #157 on: July 07, 2011, 04:05:44 PM »
Been awhile... so here's a couple for your enjoyment.

Twelve Men on the Square
By peter.howden (peter howden)


Twelve men of the square,
True pioneers; one and all,
Fixed there,
Statue still,
No bend, breath or fall,
For such men of destiny,
Colourful throughout life,
Now so grey;
Rain or shine,
Scott, Albert, Watt and Lord Clyde,
Robert Burns, Thomas Campbell,
As Gladstone, Victoria coldly bide,
Graham, Peel, Oswald, John Moore,
Do any of the greats ring a bell?
Except the last, he was the first glow,
Whether they are in heaven or hell,
Oriental dust pieces,
The heroes of Glasgow.


The Emigré
By marion.quillan (marion quillan)

So yer fae Glesga. Whit school?
Who's yer da? Wher's he work?
Who d'ye know?

Ah right. I've got ye placed.
Yer a wee bit o'a toff.
Yes, I notice how you speak
Think I can't adjust?

I can be anybody, go anywhere.
This town, this country, this world
Will never be too big, too bold
for the likes of me. So now we know.

We have the measure of each other
We can start again.
We can be friends
We can take on any challenge.

Together.
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #158 on: March 19, 2012, 10:37:25 AM »
Last time I said its been a while... that last July!

The Outlaw by Sir Walter Scott

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there,
Would grace a summer queen:
And as I rode by Dalton Hall,
Beneath the turrets high,
A Maiden on the castle wall
Was singing merrily:—

'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green!
I'd rather rove with Edmund there
Than reign our English Queen.'

'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me
To leave both tower and town,
Thou first must guess what life lead we,
That dwell by dale and down:
And if thou canst that riddle read,
As read full well you may,
Then to the green-wood shalt thou speed
As blithe as Queen of May.'

Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair,
And Greta woods are green!
I'd rather rove with Edmund there
Than reign our English Queen.

'I read you by your bugle horn
And by your palfrey good,
I read you for a Ranger sworn
To keep the King's green-wood.'
'A Ranger, Lady, winds his horn,
And 'tis at peep of light;
His blast is heard at merry morn,
And mine at dead of night.'

Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair,
And Greta woods are gay!
I would I were with Edmund there,
To reign his Queen of May!

'With burnish'd brand and musketoon
So gallantly you come,
I read you for a bold Dragoon,
That lists the tuck of drum.'
'I list no more the tuck of drum,
No more the trumpet hear;
But when the beetle sounds his hum,
My comrades take the spear.

'And O! though Brignall banks be fair,
And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden dare,
Would reign my Queen of May!

'Maiden! a nameless life I lead,
A nameless death I'll die;
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead
Were better mate than I!
And when I'm with my comrades met
Beneath the green-wood bough,
What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now.'

Chorus

Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather flowers there
Would grace a summer queen.
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #159 on: October 21, 2013, 11:53:56 AM »
Boy I guess it's been awhile since I posted anything here... This one is about life in the East End of Glasgow way back in the day.

The Ragman - David Reilly

 1. He gave you fair warning whenever he came

though the tune he played was never the same

in a neighbouring street a bugler played

and it wasnt the lifeboys or boys brigade

all the young mothers gripped with fear

as this dreaded bugler came ever near

tis the ragman playing a chordless tune

the bedragled Pied Piper of Glesga toon

 

3. Took out a Woodbine the last of his fags

then he bellowed toys for rags

last blast on the bugle and then he'd hush

lit up and waited for the expected rush

the kids in the street would all go mad

looking for rags from their mum and dad

in all the cupboards throughout the rooms

a handful of rags for a couple of balloons 
   

2. Came into our street pushing his cart

blowing his bugle right from the start

his old brown case was full of toys

like Santa's grotto to the girls and boys

paint sets and crayons and coloured chalk

to create a design on your whipping top

spud guns and peashooters and catapult slings

the toys of war the ragman brings 

 

4. With great anticipation they stood in line

eyes fixed on the ragman all of the time

no pounds or ounces of imperial measure

just a bundle of rags for unlimited treasure

though I could only stand and stare

we never seemed to have rags to spare

now looking back and assessing the facts

all of our rags were on our backs
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #160 on: October 23, 2013, 11:53:49 AM »
Lochinvar by Sir Walter Scott

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; --
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide --
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, --
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a gailiard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whisper'd, "'twere better by far
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Share on facebook Share on twitter Share on google Share on print
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Mary

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #161 on: October 23, 2013, 08:37:53 PM »
Just keep posting them, Stirling!  I liked Lochinvar.......think I read it sometime in the past, but at my age that covers a lot of years! ;)

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #162 on: October 30, 2013, 12:27:44 PM »
The Wild Geese

by Violet Jacob (1863-1846)
 

            O tell me what was on yer road, ye roarin norlan Wind,
            As ye cam blawin frae the land thats niver frae my mind?
            My feet they traivel England, but Im deein 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 Id 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?
            Theres muckle lyin yont the Tay thats mair to me nor life.
            My man, I swept the Angus braes ye haena trod for years.
            O Wind, forgie a hameless loon that canna see for tears!

            And far abune the Angus straths I saw the wild geese flee,
            A lang, lang skein o beatin wings, wi their heids towards the sea,
            And aye their cryin voices trailed ahint them on the air
            O Wind, hae maircy, haud yer whisht, for I daurna listen mair!
   
Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Stirling Thompson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #163 on: November 21, 2013, 04:37:37 PM »
Had this once on an LP, I think by the Chad Mitchell Trio but not absolutely certain...

Disobedience by A. A. Milne

James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.
James James Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he;
"You must never go down
to the end of the town,
if you don't go down with me."

James James
Morrison's Mother
Put on a golden gown.
James James Morrison's Mother
Drove to the end of the town.
James James Morrison's Mother
Said to herself, said she:
"I can get right down
to the end of the town
and be back in time for tea."

King John
Put up a notice,
"LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES MORRISON'S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY:
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN
TO THE END OF THE TOWN -
FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!"

James James
Morrison Morrison
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
Other relations
Not to go blaming him.
James James
Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he:
"You must never go down to the end of the town
without consulting me."

James James
Morrison's mother
Hasn't been heard of since.
King John said he was sorry,
So did the Queen and Prince.
King John
(Somebody told me)
Said to a man he knew:
If people go down to the end of the town, well,
what can anyone do?"

(Now then, very softly)
J.J.
M.M.
W.G.Du P.
Took great
C/0 his M*****
Though he was only 3.
J.J. said to his M*****
"M*****," he said, said he:
"You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of-the-town-
if-you-don't-go-down-with-ME!"

Semper Fidelis! Semper Familia!
Stu

Parker Thomson

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Re: Scottish Poetry
« Reply #164 on: November 22, 2013, 12:19:39 PM »
i remember a lot about Robert Burns poetry when I was a young child.  Usually it was in a restaurant and my Grandfather had a couple of single malt scotches to start the meal and a couple of Drambuies to finish it.  Then he would get the urge to quote "Scots wa have wi' Wallace bled.  Scots wam Bruce had after led.  Welcome tae yer gory bed, or to Victory!"  I usually tried to hide under the table, but somehow it stuck with me... ::)
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