 | Petition to the Deil |  |
85
A GOOD WORD FOR “THE WEED.”
(In Reply to Will H. Ogilvie's fine Poem, “The Dinted Helm.”)
“Now say, ye poor, pale scorners,
Ye wasted waifs an' wan,
What weed of your street corners
Could deal a dint like yon?”
—The Scotsman, of December 27, 1913.
Ye wasted waifs an' wan,
What weed of your street corners
Could deal a dint like yon?”
—The Scotsman, of December 27, 1913.
What voice is this from the Border
That fills the Borderside
With a call to rapine an' murder
In the peaceful Christmas-tide?
That fills the Borderside
With a call to rapine an' murder
In the peaceful Christmas-tide?
Is it Christie o' the Clint Hill,
New-risen fra his grave,
Wi' helm an' jack on head an' back?
The rude swash-buckler knave!
New-risen fra his grave,
Wi' helm an' jack on head an' back?
The rude swash-buckler knave!
Thief Christie o' the Clint Hill,
Cow-riever o' the night?
Wi' a torch thrust under your lintel,
An' the dark an' a horse for flight!
Cow-riever o' the night?
Wi' a torch thrust under your lintel,
An' the dark an' a horse for flight!
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Is he pursued? Does he turn to bay?
He wi' the cruel spear
For an unarm'd fermer, auld an' gray,
Yet game to recover his gear!
He wi' the cruel spear
For an unarm'd fermer, auld an' gray,
Yet game to recover his gear!
In spite o' his jack an' his basnet black
An' his cuisser to aid his flight,
An Ochil lad wi' a bare ox-gad
Would match him in a fight!
An' his cuisser to aid his flight,
An Ochil lad wi' a bare ox-gad
Would match him in a fight!
O, a lounderin' lick on a helm wi' a stick
May raise your admirin' cry;
It would raise but a laugh in a penny gaff
On a Saturday's nicht in the High.
May raise your admirin' cry;
It would raise but a laugh in a penny gaff
On a Saturday's nicht in the High.
A lounderin' lick on the head wi' a stick
Fa's licht on an armour'd croon,
But a tunic o' serge to a bayonet charge—
That's war wi' a different soun'!
Fa's licht on an armour'd croon,
But a tunic o' serge to a bayonet charge—
That's war wi' a different soun'!
It's no' a' braves on the Borderside
An' it's no' a' weeds i' the toun;
An' there's mony a weed as guid at need
As ever was Border loon!
An' it's no' a' weeds i' the toun;
An' there's mony a weed as guid at need
As ever was Border loon!
An' dinna ye measure the spirit's worth
By the wecht o' the outer man:
There was mony a weed o' Auld Reekie's breed
A hero at Inkerman!
By the wecht o' the outer man:
There was mony a weed o' Auld Reekie's breed
A hero at Inkerman!
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