 | Petition to the Deil |  |
64
THE LANG WHANG.
A Poacher's Wail from Flanders.
February 16, 1916.
I'm a miner lad, fra Mid-Calder braes,
In a bog i' the Laigh Countree,
An' I'm howkin' here, in a woman's claes,
Whaur I never aince thocht to be.
In a bog i' the Laigh Countree,
An' I'm howkin' here, in a woman's claes,
Whaur I never aince thocht to be.
O there's naething here for your lugs to hear,
Nor a sicht for your een to see,
But a burstin' shell, wi' a stink like hell,
An' the pole o' a poplar tree.
Nor a sicht for your een to see,
But a burstin' shell, wi' a stink like hell,
An' the pole o' a poplar tree.
Noo that's a thing that is ill to thole;
But it's better to fecht than flee,
An' I'll stick it here like a brock in a hole,
Since better it mayna be.
But it's better to fecht than flee,
An' I'll stick it here like a brock in a hole,
Since better it mayna be.
But the far-flung curve o' the Lang Whang Road,
Wi' the mune on the sky's eebree,
An' naething but me an' the wind abroad
Is the wuss that's hauntin' me.
Wi' the mune on the sky's eebree,
An' naething but me an' the wind abroad
Is the wuss that's hauntin' me.
65
It's a dream that lifts my hert abune
The swamp that's surroundin' me—
The Lang Whang Road an' the risin' mune
An' the nicht-wind wanderin' free!
The swamp that's surroundin' me—
The Lang Whang Road an' the risin' mune
An' the nicht-wind wanderin' free!
I'm thinkin' lang, but I'm thinkin' o'd;
An' the howp that's uphauldin' me
Is a Setterday yet near the Boarstane Road,
Wi' a dog's nose nudgin' my knee!
An' the howp that's uphauldin' me
Is a Setterday yet near the Boarstane Road,
Wi' a dog's nose nudgin' my knee!
O the witchin' line o' the Lang Whang Road
Is a sicht for an exile's ee—
At the gloamin' hour, wi' the winds abroad,
If the Lord wad favour me!
Is a sicht for an exile's ee—
At the gloamin' hour, wi' the winds abroad,
If the Lord wad favour me!
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