Poems And Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

Gang, Jenny, bring my fishing-book,
And lay't doon by my side,
That I ance mair may view the lines
And flees that were my pride;
I'll spread them out upon the mat,
And sort them ane by ane,
And think I'm on some burnie's bank,
Some cloudy day in June.

And have I on ye spent, my flees,
Sae mony hours in vain?
And will ye ne'er in haun's o' mine
Deceive a troot again?
Maun I ne'er mair in Avon drook
Your wings, my bonny flees,
Nor fin' the caller water plash
Sae kin'ly owre my knees?

There, Jenny, lay them by again,
I'm jist like ony wean,
Wi' trifles for a moment pleased,
Wi' trifles filled wi' pain.
Oh, sirs! but they've a weary time
On creeping Doom wha wait,
Expectin' morn and e'en to hear
His trumpet at the gate.

Dear Jenny! we in wedlock's yoke
Hae drawn thegither weel;
Though ae troot meltit frae a tak',
Ye didna often squeel.
Ye ne'er wi' gloomy leuks against
My only pleasure stood,
Nor grudged an antrin idle day
When streams were in the tid.

In vain the Shirra warn't me, Jen',
In vain he fin't me sair;

To hae oor hard-won siller back
I us't my rod the mair.
I ken I should the salmon spared
That socht oor streams to spawn;
But them that law forbids to fish
Maun tak' jist when they can.

But, Jenny, noo it's owre; nae mair
I'll paidle in the Clyde;
Nae mair my rod owre Avon wave
Wi' a' a fisher's pride.
Thy stream, Carbarns, I'll roop nae mair,
Nor up the water steer,
And frae thy dark deep pools, Dalserf,
The pike in triumph bear.

This worl' is jist a river, Jen',
Wi' human shoals aye thrang;
Some strugglin' aye against the stream,
Some cannie borne alang.
And Death stauns owre't wi' otter-line,
Oot liftin' ten by ten,

Syne whare we're taen, or hoo we're us't,
We guess, but naething ken.

And I am jist a puir lean troot
That in the pan wad burn,
And, strugglin' past the otter-line,
Am liftit in my turn.
Oh! but to leeve and shield the bairns,
When want or winter ca's,
I wad gie a' that ever swam
'Tween Ailsa and the Fa's.

Ay, Jenny, weel the tear o' grief
May shimmer in thy ee;
Though wee and feckless, I hae been
A kin' guidman to thee.
He's comin' fast, that creditor
Wha maun hae a' that's awn;
I see the settin' sun, but when
Or whare will come the dawn?

Oh, Jenny, when the time comes roun'
To lay me 'neath the swaird,

Say will ye try and get me laid
In auld Cam'nethan yaird?
For when the last lood trumpet-note
Frae Death's grip sets me free,
I like to think I'll rise and hae
The Water in my ee.

Meltit—was exchanged for whisky.