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A THANKSGIVING POEM Author: Robert Frost God, we thank you for this food For rest and home and all things good For wind and rain and sun above But most of all for those we love
A MAN'S A MAN Author: Robert Burns Is there for honest poverty That hings his head, and a' that? The coward-slave, we pass him by, We daur be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowd for a' that! What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, and a' that; Gie fools their silks and knaves their wine, A Man's a Man for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that! Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that, Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, His ribband, star and a' that; The man of independent mind He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke and a' that; But an honest man's abune his might Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that; The pith o' sense and pride o' worth Are higher rank than a' that! Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, It's comin yet for a' that, That Man to Man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that!
ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE Author: Robert Burns My curse upon your venom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gums alang, An' thro' my lug gies mony a twang, Wi' gnawing vengeance, Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, Like racking engines! When fevers burn, or argues freezes, Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeezes, Our neibor's sympathy can ease us, Wi' pitying moan; But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases- Aye mocks our groan. Adown my beard the slavers trickle I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle, While round the fire the giglets keckle, To see me loup, While, raving mad, I wish a heckle Were in their doup! In a' the numerous human dools, Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stools, Or worthy frien's rak'd i' the mools, - Sad sight to see! The tricks o' knaves, or fash o'fools, Thou bear'st the gree! Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, Where a' the tones o' misery yell, An' ranked plagues their numbers tell, In dreadfu' raw, Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell, Amang them a'! O thou grim, mischief-making chiel, That gars the notes o' discord squeel, Till daft mankind aft dance a reel In gore, a shoe-thick, Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal A townmond's toothache!
ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID Author: Robert Burns O ye wha are sae guid yoursel', Sae pious and sae holy, Ye've nought to do but mark and tell Your neibours' fauts and folly! Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, Supplied wi' store o' water; The heaped happer's ebbing still, An' still the clap plays clatter. Hear me, ye venerable core, As counsel for poor mortals That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door For glaikit Folly's portals: I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, Would here propone defences- Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, Their failings and mischances. Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, And shudder at the niffer; But cast a moment's fair regard, What maks the mighty differ; Discount what scant occasion gave, That purity ye pride in; And (what's aft mair than a' the lave), Your better art o' hidin. Think, when your castigated pulse Gies now and then a wallop! What ragings must his veins convulse, That still eternal gallop! Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, Right on ye scud your sea-way; But in the teeth o' baith to sail, It maks a unco lee-way. See Social Life and Glee sit down, All joyous and unthinking, Till, quite transmugrified, they're grown Debauchery and Drinking: O would they stay to calculate Th' eternal consequences; Or your more dreaded hell to state, Damnation of expenses! Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, Tied up in godly laces, Before ye gie poor Frailty names, Suppose a change o' cases; A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, A treach'rous inclination- But let me whisper i' your lug, Ye're aiblins nae temptation. Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark, - The moving Why they do it; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us; He knows each chord, its various tone, Each spring, its various bias: Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.
HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER Author: Robert Burns Holy Willie was a rather oldish bachelor elder, in the parish of Mauchline, and much and justly famed for that polemical chattering, which ends in tippling orthodoxy, and for that spiritualized bawdry which refines to liquorish devotion. In a sessional process with a gentleman in Mauchline-a Mr.Gavin Hamilton-Holy Willie and his priest, Father Auld, after full hearing in the presbytery of Ayr, came off but second best; owing partly to the oratorical powers of Mr. Robert Aiken, Mr. Hamilton's counsel; but chiefly to Mr. Hamilton's being one of the most irreproachable and truly respectable characters in the county. On losing the process, the muse overheard him [Holy Willie] at his devotions, as follows:- O Thou, who in the heavens does dwell, Who, as it pleases best Thysel', Sends ane to heaven an' ten to hell, A' for Thy glory, And no for ony gude or ill They've done afore Thee! I bless and praise Thy matchless might, When thousands Thou hast left in night, That I am here afore Thy sight, For gifts an' grace A burning and a shining light To a' this place. What was I, or my generation, That I should get sic exaltation, I wha deserve most just damnation For broken laws, Five thousand years ere my creation, Thro' Adam's cause? When frae my mither's womb I fell, Thou might hae plunged me in hell, To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, In burnin lakes, Where damned devils roar and yell, Chain'd to their stakes. Yet I am here a chosen sample, To show thy grace is great and ample; I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple, Strong as a rock, A guide, a buckler, and example, To a' Thy flock. O Lord, Thou kens what zeal I bear, When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear, An' singin there, an' dancin here, Wi' great and sma'; For I am keepit by Thy fear Free frae them a'. But yet, O Lord! confess I must, At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust: An' sometimes, too, in wardly trust, Vile self gets in: But Thou remembers we are dust, Defil'd wi' sin. O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg- Thy pardon I sincerely beg, O! may't ne'er be a livin plague To my dishonour, An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg Again upon her. Besides, I farther maun allow, Wi' Leezie's lass, three times I trow- But Lord, that Friday I was fou, When I cam near her; Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true Wad never steer her. Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn Buffet Thy servant e'en and morn, Lest he owre proud and high shou'd turn, That he's sae gifted: If sae, Thy han' maun e'en be borne, Until Thou lift it. Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place, For here Thou hast a chosen race: But God confound their stubborn face, An' blast their name, Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace An' public shame. Lord, mind Gaw'n Hamilton's deserts; He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes, Yet has sae mony takin arts, Wi' great and sma', Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts He steals awa. An' when we chasten'd him therefor, Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, An' set the warld in a roar O' laughing at us;- Curse Thou his basket and his store, Kail an' potatoes. Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r, Against that Presbyt'ry o' Ayr; Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare Upo' their heads; Lord visit them, an' dinna spare, For their misdeeds. O Lord, my God! that glib-tongu'd Aiken, My vera heart and flesh are quakin, To think how we stood sweatin', shakin, An' p-'d wi' dread, While he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin, Held up his head. Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him, Lord, visit them wha did employ him, And pass not in Thy mercy by 'em, Nor hear their pray'r, But for Thy people's sake, destroy 'em, An' dinna spare. But, Lord, remember me an' mine Wi' mercies temp'ral an' divine, That I for grace an' gear may shine, Excell'd by nane, And a' the glory shall be thine, Amen, Amen! Epitaph On Holy Willie Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay Taks up its last abode; His saul has ta'en some other way, I fear, the left-hand road. Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun, Poor, silly body, see him; Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, Observe wha's standing wi' him. Your brunstane devilship, I see, Has got him there before ye; But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, Till ance you've heard my story. Your pity I will not implore, For pity ye have nane; Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, And mercy's day is gane. But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, Look something to your credit; A coof like him wad stain your name, If it were kent ye did it.
TAM GLEN Author: Robert Burns My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie, Some counsel unto me come len', To anger them a' is a pity, But what will I do wi' Tam Glen? I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, In poortith I might mak a fen; What care I in riches to wallow, If I maunna marry Tam Glen! There's Lowrie the Laird o' Dumeller- "Gude day to you, brute!" he comes ben: He brags and he blaws o' his siller, But when will he dance like Tam Glen! My minnie does constantly deave me, And bids me beware o' young men; They flatter, she says, to deceive me, But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen! My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, He'd gie me gude hunder marks ten; But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, O wha will I get but Tam Glen! Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, My heart to my mou' gied a sten'; For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written "Tam Glen"! The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken, His likeness came up the house staukin, And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! Come, counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry; I'll gie ye my bonie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.
TAM O SHANTER Author: Robert Burns When chapmen billes leave the street, And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, As market days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousing at the nappy, And getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, That lie between us and our hame, Where sits our sulky sullen dame. Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonie lasses.) O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was nae sober; That ilka melder, wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; That at the L--d's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied that late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises! But to our tale:-- Ae market-night, Tam had got planted unco right; Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither-- They had been fou for weeks thegither! The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter And ay the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious, wi' favours secret,sweet and precious The Souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel' amang the nappy! As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! But pleasures are like poppies spread, You sieze the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white--then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm.-- Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand. Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg-- A better never lifted leg-- Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire; Despisin' wind and rain and fire. Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; Whiles glowring round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares: Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. By this time he was cross the ford, Whare, in the snaw, the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drunken Chairlie brak 's neck-bane; And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mingo's mither hang'd hersel'.-- Before him Doon pours all is floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole; Near and more near the thunders roll: When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; And loud resounded mirth and dancing. Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippeny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!-- The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventured forward on the light; And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock-bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge: He scre'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.-- Coffins stood round, like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some develish cantraip slight, Each in its cauld hand held a light.-- By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table, A murders's banes in gibbet-airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi blude red-rested; Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft, The gray hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which even to name was be unlawfu'. Three lawyers' tongues, turn'd inside out, Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout; Three priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, Lay stinking, vile in every neuk. As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The piper loud and louder blew; The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, And coost her duddies to the wark, And linket at it her sark! Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens, Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen! Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, For ae blink o' the bonie burdies! But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Louping and flinging on a crummock, I wonder did na turn thy stomach! But Tam kend what was what fu' brawlie: There was ae winsome wench and waulie, That night enlisted in the core, Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore; (For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear.) Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie,- Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for he wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches! But here my Muse her wing maun cour; Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jade she was, and strang), And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd; Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main; Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason ' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied. As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo. Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'! In vain thy Kate awaits thy commin'! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane o' the brig; There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake! For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle - Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain gray tail; The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. No, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son take heed; Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think! ye may buy joys o'er dear - Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.
THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT Author: Robert Burns Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq., of Ayr. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the Poor. Gray. My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend! No mercenary bard his homage pays; With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise: To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene, The native feelings strong, the guileless ways, What Aiken in a cottage would have been; Ah! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween! November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; The short'ning winter-day is near a close; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh; The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose: The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, - This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through To meet their dead, wi' flichterin noise and glee. His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie, His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, The lisping infant, prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, At service out, amang the farmers roun'; Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neibor town: Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown, In youthfu' bloom-love sparkling in her e'e- Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new gown, Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet, And each for other's weelfare kindly speirs: The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd fleet: Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears. The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view; The mother, wi' her needle and her shears, Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. Their master's and their mistress' command, The younkers a' are warned to obey; And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, And ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play; "And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway, And mind your duty, duly, morn and night; Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, Implore His counsel and assisting might: They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright." But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, Tells how a neibor lad came o'er the moor, To do some errands, and convoy her hame. The wily mother sees the conscious flame Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; With heart-struck anxious care, enquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel-pleased the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake. Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; A strappin youth, he takes the mother's eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave, Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O happy love! where love like this is found: O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary, mortal round, And sage experience bids me this declare, - "If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare- One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair In other'sarms, breathe out the tender tale, Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale." Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth! That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth! Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd? Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild? But now the supper crowns their simple board, The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food; The sowp their only hawkie does afford, That, 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood: The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell; And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid: The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell How t'was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, The big ha'bible, ance his father's pride: His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care; And "Let us worship God!" he says with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise, They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim; Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures rise; Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name; Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame; The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays: Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickl'd ears no heart-felt raptures raise; Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high; Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny; Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire; Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, Had not on earth whereon to lay His head: How His first followers and servants sped; The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: How he, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heaven's command. Then, kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays: Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing,"^1 That thus they all shall meet in future days, There, ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, In all the pomp of method, and of art; When men display to congregations wide Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! The Power, incens'd, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well-pleas'd, the language of the soul; And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enroll. Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way; The youngling cottagers retire to rest: The parent-pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, That he who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide; But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, "An honest man's the noblest work of God;" And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind; What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd! O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! And O! may Heaven their simple lives prevent From luxury's contagion, weak and vile! Then howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd isle. O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide, That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart, Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part: (The patriot's God peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) O never, never Scotia's realm desert; But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!
THE OLD FARMER'S NEW YEAR Author: Robert Burns On giving her the accustomed ripp of corn to hansel in the New Year. A Guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie! Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie: Tho' thou's howe-backit now, an' knaggie, I've seen the day Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie, Out-owre the lay. Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, An' thy auld hide as white's a daisie, I've seen thee dappl't, sleek an' glaizie, A bonie gray: He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, Ance in a day. Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank; An' set weel down a shapely shank, As e'er tread yird; An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, Like ony bird. It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, Sin' thou was my guid-father's mear; He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, An' fifty mark; Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, An' thou was stark. When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trotting wi' your minnie: Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, Ye ne'er was donsie; But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, An' unco sonsie. That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, When ye bure hame my bonie bride: An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, Wi' maiden air! Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide For sic a pair. Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, An' wintle like a saumont coble, That day, ye was a jinker noble, For heels an' win'! An' ran them till they a' did wauble, Far, far, behin'! When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, How thou wad prance, and snore, an' skreigh An' tak the road! Town's-bodies ran, an' stood abeigh, An' ca't thee mad. When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, We took the road aye like a swallow: At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, For pith an' speed; But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollowm Whare'er thou gaed. The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle; But sax Scotch mile, thou try't their mettle, An' gar't them whaizle: Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle O' saugh or hazel. Thou was a noble fittie-lan', As e'er in tug or tow was drawn! Aft thee an' I, in aught hours' gaun, In guid March-weather, Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', For days thegither. Thou never braing't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit; But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, Wi' pith an' power; Till sprittie knowes wad rair't an' riskit An' slypet owre. When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, An' threaten'd labour back to keep, I gied thy cog a wee bit heap Aboon the timmer: I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep, For that, or simmer. In cart or car thou never reestit; The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it; Thou never lap, an' sten't, and breastit, Then stood to blaw; But just thy step a wee thing hastit, Thou snoov't awa. My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a', Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw; Forbye sax mae I've sell't awa, That thou hast nurst: They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, The vera warst. Mony a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, An' wi' the weary warl' fought! An' mony an anxious day, I thought We wad be beat! Yet here to crazy age we're brought, Wi' something yet. An' think na', my auld trusty servan', That now perhaps thou's less deservin, An' thy auld days may end in starvin; For my last fow, A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane Laid by for you. We've worn to crazy years thegither; We'll toyte about wi' ane anither; Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether To some hain'd rig, Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, Wi' sma' fatigue.
TO A LOUSE Author: Robert Burns Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie? Your impudence protects you sairly; I canna say but ye strunt rarely, Owre gauze and lace; Tho', faith! I fear ye dine but sparely On sic a place. Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, How daur ye set your fit upon her- Sae fine a lady? Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner On some poor body. Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle; There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle, Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, In shoals and nations; Whaur horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle Your thick plantations. Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight, Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight; Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right, Till ye've got on it- The verra tapmost, tow'rin height O' Miss' bonnet. My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, As plump an' grey as ony groset: O for some rank, mercurial rozet, Or fell, red smeddum, I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't, Wad dress your droddum. I wad na been surpris'd to spy You on an auld wife's flainen toy; Or aiblins some bit dubbie boy, On's wyliecoat; But Miss' fine Lunardi! fye! How daur ye do't? O Jeany, dinna toss your head, An' set your beauties a' abread! Ye little ken what cursed speed The blastie's makin: Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread, Are notice takin. O wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us! It wad frae mony a blunder free us, An' foolish notion: What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, An' ev'n devotion!
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY Author: Robert Burns On turning down with the Plough, in April, 1786. Wee, modest crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonie gem. Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, The bonie lark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, Wi' spreckl'd breast! When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield; But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betray'd, And guileless trust; Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, By human pride or cunning driv'n To mis'ry's brink; Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, He, ruin'd, sink! Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine-no distant date; Stern Ruin's plough-share drives elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom!
TO A MOUSE Author: Robert Burns On turning her up in her nest, with the plough, November, 1785 Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie, O, what panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle! I'm truly sorry Man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle, At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, An' never miss't! Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin! It's silly wa's the win's are strewin! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin, Baith snell an' keen! Thou saw the fields laid bare an' wast, An' weary Winter comin fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald. To thole the Winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld! But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy! Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! The present only toucheth thee: But Och! I backward cast my e'e, On prospects drear! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear!
THE LAWS OF PHYSICS AS APPLIED TO CAT Author: (source unknown) 1 - Law of Cat Inertia A cat at rest will tend to remain at rest, unless acted upon by some outside force - such as the opening of cat food, or a nearby scurrying mouse. 2 - Law of Cat Motion A cat will move in a straight line, unless there is a really good reason to change direction. 3 - Law of Cat Magnetism All blue blazers and black sweaters attract cat hair in direct proportion to the darkness of the fabric. 4 - Law of Cat Thermodynamics Heat flows from a warmer to a cooler body, except in the case of a cat, all heat flows to the cat. 5 - Law of Cat Stretching A cat will stretch to a distance proportional to the length of the nap just taken. 6 - Law of Cat Sleeping All cats must sleep with people whenever possible, in a position as uncomfortable for the people involved as is possible for the cat. 7 - Law of Cat Elongation A cat can make her body long enough to reach just about any countertop, that has anything remotely interesting on it. 8 - Law of Cat Acceleration A cat will accelerate at a constant rate, until he gets good and ready to stop. 9 - Law of Dinner Table Attendance Cats must attend all meals when anything good is served. 10 - Law of Rug Configuration No rug may remain in its naturally flat state, for very long. 11 - Law of Obediance Resistance A cat's resistance varies in proportion to a human's desire for her to do something. 12 - First Law of Energy Conservation Cats know that energy can neither be created nor destroyed and will, therefore, use as little energy as possible. 13 - Second Law of Energy Conservation Cats also know that energy can only be stored, by a lot of napping. 14 - Law of Refrigerator Observation If a cat watches a refrigerator long enough, someone will come along and take out something good to eat. 15 - Law of Electric Blanket Attraction Turn on an electric blanket and a cat will jump into bed at the speed of light. 16 - Law of Random Comfort Seeking A cat will will always seek, and usually take over, the most comfortable spot in any given room. 17 - Law of Bag / Box Occupancy All bags and boxes in a given room must contain a cat within the earliest possible nanosecond. 18 - Law of Cat Embarrassment A cat's irritation rises in direct proportion to her embarrassment times the amount of human laughter. 19 - Law of Milk Consumption A cat will drink his weight in milk, squared, just to show you he can. 20 - Law of Furniture Replacement A cat's desire to scratch furniture is directly proportional to the cost of the furniture. 21 - Law of Cat Landing A cat will always land in the softest place possible. 22 - Law of Fluid Displacement A cat immersed in milk will displace her own volume, minus the amount of milk consumed. 23 - Law of Cat Disinterest A cat's interest level will vary in inverse proportion to the amount of effort a human expends in trying to interest him. 24 - Law of Pill Rejection Any pill given to a cat has the potential energy to reach escape velocity. 25 - Law of Cat Composition A cat is composed of Matter + Anti-Matter + It Doesn't Matter. 26 - Law of Selective Listening Although a cat can hear a can of tuna being opened a mile away, she can't hear a simple command three feet away. 27 - Law of Equidistant Separation All cats in a given room will locate at points equidistant from each other, and equidistant from the center of the room. 28 - Law of Cat Invisibility Cats think that if they can't see you, then you can't see them. 29 - Law of Space-Time Continuum Given enough time, a cat will land in just about any space. 30 - Law of Concentration of Mass A cat's mass increases in direct proportion to the comfort of the lap she occupies. 31 - Law of Cat Probability (Cat's Uncertainty Principle) It is not possible to predict where a cat actually is, only the probability of where she "might" be. 32 - Law of Cat Obedience As yet undiscovered.
THE BOY IN THE TRAIN Author: Mrs M C Smith M C Edgar was the daughter of the minister at Burn's one-time parish of Mauchline in Ayrshire. She was born in Kirkcudbrightshire, and moved to Dulwich in London when she married. Whit wey does the engine say Toot-toot? Is it feart to gang in the tunnel? Whit wey is the furnace no pit oot When the rain gangs doon the funnel? Whatâ??ll I hae for my tea the nicht? A herrinâ??, or maybe a haddie? Has Granâ??ma gotten electric licht? Is the next stop Kirkcaddy? Thereâ??s a hoodie-craw on yon turnip-raw! Anâ?? sea-gulls! â?? sax or seeven. Iâ??ll no faâ?? oot oâ?? the windae, Maw, Itâ??s sneckit, as sure as Iâ??m leevinâ??. Weâ??re into the tunnel! weâ??re aâ?? in the dark! But dinna be frichtit, Daddy, Weâ??ll sune be cominâ?? to Beveridge Park, And the next stopâ??s Kirkcaddy! Is yon the mune I see in the sky? Itâ??s awfuâ?? wee anâ?? curly. See! thereâ??s a coo and a cauf ootbye, Anâ?? a lassie puâ??inâ?? a hurly! Heâ??s chackit the tickets and gien them back, Sae gie me my ain yin, Daddy. Lift doon the bag frae the luggage rack, For the next stopâ??s Kirkcaddy! Thereâ??s a gey wheen boats at the harbour mouâ??, And eh! dae ye see the cruisers? The cinnamon drop I was sookinâ?? the noo Has tummelt anâ?? stuck tae ma troosers Iâ??ll sune be ringinâ?? ma Granâ??maâ??s bell, Sheâ??ll cry, â??Come ben, my laddie.â?? For I ken myselâ?? by the queer-like smell That the next stopâ??s Kirkcaddy!â?? Kirkcaldy was famous for its linoleum factories which left a distinctive smell along the Fife coast. The locals were sensitive about it.
KEEPING THE SABBATH Author: From ScotWit A prominent Doctor of Divinity during a visit to a rural parish in the North had conducted the morning service in the village church, and in the course of the afternoon he was enjoying a quiet walk in the lovely summer weather. He had not, however, gone very far before he was challenged by one of the Elders of the Congregation. "Are ye on an errand o mercie?" he was asked. "Oh no" replied the visitor. "I am just enjoying a short walk and admiring the beauties of nature." "Juist whit A thocht" returned the Elder. "Shairlie a chiel lyke ye micht weill ken that this is no a day fir onie sic a thing." "But, my friend" answered the Reverend Doctor quietly "did not the Master himself walk abroad on the Sabbath and even pluck the ears of corn?" "Weill, gin he did" came the dour reply "A dinna think onie the mair o him for't."
A CARING CHILD Author: From ScotWit The Bible lesson had been about the story of Joseph and Mary. The teacher had given the children a graphic account of all the hardships of the father and mother and how, to crown all, they could find no room in the Inn and had in the end been forced to take refuge in the manger. The sad story had made a deep impression on at least one member of the class and he thought hard about it all the following week. At the commencement of the next Scripture lesson he raised his hand. "Well Andrew" asked the teacher "what is it now?" "Please miss" enquired the sympathetic Andrew "is there onie wird o yon fowk that war luiken fir a houss?"
RULES ARE RULES Author: From ScotWit Old Erchie had served the Railway Company as Guard on the local railway for nearly fifty years, and when his time to retire arrived he found the parting a severe wrench. Hearing how keenly their old employee felt leaving the service, the Company arranged to present him with an old coach to keep at the bottom of his garden to serve as a daily reminder of his active days on the line. One very wet day some of his friends called to see Erchie and were informed by his wife that he would be "on the train." Going down the garden they found Erchie sitting on the step of the carriage, smoking furiously at his pipe and with an old sack over his shoulders to protect him from the downpour. "Hello, Erchie" his friends greeted him "why are ye no inside in a day like this?" *Can ye no see" replied Erchie with a nod towards the windows, "they only sent me a non-smoker!"
THE HIGHLAND GAMES Author: Children's Story by Margo Fallis Once a year, all the sheep in the glen get together to compete in the Highland Games. It is always great fun and this year promised to be the same. Todayâ??s main events were Sheep Jumping, Haggis Eating, Sock Knitting, and everyoneâ??s favorite, the Highland Fling. Other less popular events, such as, Bluebell Ringing, Thistle Picking, and River Walking, took place throughout the day. The sheep started showing up, each dressed in their flock tartan. The first sheep to arrive were Brodie and Florrie, participants in the Sheep Jumping event. Small fences had been placed all around the edge of the meadow. Many other animals of the glen, such as deer, fox, and hare, had found a place to sit in the center, to get the best view. Keith, a large ram, was to be the judge. Brodie and Florrie stood at the starting line. Keith let out a loud â??BAAâ?? and the two sheep were off. They hopped over the first fence. Keith counted â??oneâ??. They leapt over the second fence. Keith counted â??twoâ??. By the time theyâ??d reached the tenth fence, Keith was asleep. He had fallen down on the grass and was snoring as the two sheep ran and leapt. They didnâ??t know when to stop, as Keith wasnâ??t awake to do the stop â??BAAâ??. After twenty times around the meadow, all the other animals that were watching were asleep. Itâ??s not easy counting sheep. Brodie was so tired that he tripped on a fence post and Florrie, too tired to leap another fence, just stood there. About that time, Keith woke up. He saw Brodie lying on the ground and Florrie standing at a fence. He didnâ??t know whom to call as winner, as heâ??d been sleeping, so he called them both over and announced it was a tie. In another part of the glen, tables had been set up for the Haggis Eating Games. Calum and Ramsay, two large rams, had bibs tied around their necks, ready to eat. Nellie, a ewe, sat across from them. She was the judge - the counter of the haggis. Crowds gathered around, eager for the Games to begin. The first plate of steaming haggis was brought out and placed on the table in front of the two sheep. Calum sniffed it. He wasnâ??t particularly fond of haggis but had starved himself for two days so heâ??d be really hungry. He was so hungry right then that heâ??d eat anything, even haggis. Ramsay, however, loved haggis. He could hardly wait for Nellie to say â??BAAâ??, so they could eat. Nellie looked at the two hungry rams and said â??BAAâ??. Calum and Ramsay ate the first haggis in seconds. Plate after plate of hot, delicious haggis was brought to the table. Twenty-five haggisesâ?? later, the sheep were full. As much as Ramsay loved haggis, he couldnâ??t eat another bite. Calum, once a starving sheep, was so full that he thought he might explode, but he wanted to win, so he forced himself to eat one more haggis. Nellie counted. That was twenty-six haggises for Calum. He was the winner! He won, but was too full to move or watch any of the other Games. For all the other animals in the glen it was tea-time. They wandered over to the food stands. Tables were piled high with rich, buttery shortbread, raisin filled scones, sugary tablet, treacle toffees, sausage rolls, onion and potato filled bridies, and meat pies. Others were content to sip their tea and nibble on chocolate-covered biscuits. A horn sounded to announce the Games were about to continue. The animals went over to a cluster of rowan trees and sat down. The Sock Knitting Games were about to begin. Two ewes, Annabel and Kelsi, and one ram, Clyde, were the only three to enter. They were also the best knitters in the glen. Each brought a ball of wool, some of their own fleece, which had been spun and carded. Annabelâ??s was creamy and white. Kelsiâ??s was light brown, and Clydeâ??s wool was deep chocolate brown. â??BAAâ?? went Niall, the judge, and the three started knitting. Their knitting needles clicked together as they knit two, purl one. The socks began to take shape. Soon all had finished their first sock. Niall gathered them and slipped them on his hooves. All three were soft and warm. Clyde finished first. His pair of dark brown socks was splendid. Annabel finished second, followed by Kelsi. The woolen socks were put on display for all to see. Later, a raffle was held. Niall walked away with the brown pair on his legs. The last event of the Games was the Highland fling. The crowds of animals found their seats in the center of the meadow. The tables had been hauled away and a wooden platform put in their place. Stewart, the bagpiper, stood, warming up. The dancers would soon arrive. Ailsa placed six swords on the ground, making three Xâ??s on the platform, then trotted off into the audience to watch. The bagpipes began. Rianna, dressed in her green, blue, and yellow tartan kilt, stood above one of the sets of shiny steel swords. She was followed by Euphamia in her red, green, and white tartan kilt. Last on stage was Gavin. He wore a yellow, black, and white tartan kilt. All three sheep looked dashing in their flock tartans. With the three sheep in place, Stewart began to play faster. They danced the Highland fling, their legs flailing about, very controlled and precise. As the music came to a stop, the crowds clapped. A winner was announced. Euphamia had won first place. The winners of all the Highland Games for that year gathered for one final applause and each one was given a trophy. This yearâ??s festivities and games were a hit. The sheep and other animals looked forward to next yearâ??s events.
THE HIGHLAND TRIPLETS Author: A Children's Story by Margo Fallis A cold and wintry Highland wind blew through the glen; its icy breath swirling around the lonely croft cottage. Inside it was a different story. A warm peat fire glowed in the fireplace as Mrs. MacTattie gave birth to a set of identical triplet boys. Mr. MacTattie was delighted and so proud. He named the boys Duncan, Douglas, and Donald. Each of them had big blue eyes and lots of Highland red hair. The winter months in the glen were bitter. The MacTatties stayed in the cottage where it was warm. One day Mrs. MacTattie looked out the kitchen window and saw a lone buttery-yellow daffodil blooming. Spring had arrived. "Time for the boys to go outside in their prams and get some fresh Highland air," she announced. She put Duncan in his pram and wrapped him tightly in a MacTattie tartan blanket. It was bright blue, like his eyes, with yellow and white stripes running through it. She put the pram in the back garden, near a rowan tree. Douglas was put in his pram, wrapped snug in his MacTattie tartan blanket, and set out in the back garden near a wild rose bush. Donald lay in his pram, warm and cozy in his MacTattie tartan blanket, near a cluster of prickly purple thistle. The warm sun shone down on the triplets. Duncan laid awake, goo-gooing and watching the new, tender leaves of the rowan tree dance in the gentle breeze. A large Highland cow with long, reddish-brown hair, came walking by his pram and looked in it. She let out a soft, curious â??MOOâ??. Duncan started giggling. The cow, surprised, mooed again. Duncan burst out laughing. The cow fluttered her long eyelashes and tickled Duncanâ??s nose with her ears, being careful not to poke him with her long, handlebar horns. She stood by his pram the entire time he was outside, keeping him happy. Douglas was enjoying the fresh air and watching the butterflies fly from one wild pink rose to another. A Highland sheep, covered with thick, eggshell-white wool, trotted up to Douglasâ??s pram and peered inside. It let out a soft â??BAAâ??. Douglas started to chuckle. The sheep went â??BAAâ?? again. This time Douglas giggled and laughed with glee. The sheep tickled Douglasâ??s chin with its wool. It stayed at the pram playing with Douglas in the warm sunshine. Donald watched a big, black and yellow bumblebee buzzing around the feathery purple thistles. He was cooing and smiling happily when he spotted a long-eared hare. It was hopping about the back garden, nibbling on Mrs. MacTattieâ??s carrot patch. Donald watched the hare carefully as it hopped onto his pram. Its long whiskers wriggled and its wet nose twitched. Donald started to laugh. He thought the hare was funny. It tickled Donaldâ??s cheeks with its long, gray, furry ears. He laughed out loud. The hare stayed perched on Donaldâ??s pram and played with him as the bees buzzed by. Mrs. MacTattie noticed it was feeding time. She went outside to gather her triplets and bring them in. She saw the Highland cow standing near Duncanâ??s pram. She was worried that the cow might accidentally poke her baby with its long horns. "Shoo! Away wiâ?? ye!" she shouted and shooed the cow away. Mrs. MacTattie took Duncanâ??s pram inside. She put him in his wooden cradle in front of the fire. When she went out to bring Douglas in, she saw a Highland sheep near his pram. She didnâ??t want the sheep touching her baby with its dirty wool. "Shoo! Away wiâ?? ye!" she shouted, and shooed the sheep away. Mrs. MacTattie took Douglasâ??s pram into the cottage and put him in his cradle near the fire. Mrs. MacTattie went out to get Donald. Sitting on the edge of his pram was a gray hair with long ears. She didnâ??t want the hare touching her baby with its long ears. "Shoo! Away wiâ?? ye!" she shouted and the hare hopped into the ferns. Mrs. MacTattie took Donaldâ??s pram inside and laid him in his cradle next to his brothers. She was just about to fix supper when the boys started crying. â??WAA! WAA! WAA!â?? Mrs. MacTattie rocked the cradles and tried to stop their crying. It didnâ??t work! They kept crying. â??WAA! WAA! WAA!â?? Mr. MacTattie picked each of them up and patted their backs. That didnâ??t work either! They kept crying. â??WAA! WAA! WAA!â?? Mrs. MacTattie took the boys and sat them on the floor in the kitchen. She gave each of them a pot and spoon to bang. Even this didnâ??t work! The triplets kept on crying. â??WAA! WAA! WAA!â?? Mrs. MacTattie didnâ??t know what to do. Nothing worked! Then she thought of something brilliant. She handed the boys to Mr. MacTattie. "Put them in their cradles," she said, and then went outside. When she came back inside, the boys were still crying. She opened the door wide and in came the Highland cow. It went â??MOOâ?? and walked over to Duncanâ??s cradle in front of the fire. She started tickling his nose with her ears. Duncan stopped crying and started to laugh. Mrs. MacTattie stopped worrying about the cow poking Duncan with its long horns. The Highland sheep came in next. It went â??BAAâ?? and trotted over to Douglasâ??s cradle near the fire. It tickled his chin with its soft, fluffy wool. Douglas stopped crying and started laughing. Mrs. MacTattie didnâ??t think the sheepâ??s wool was that dirty after all. Then the hare hopped through the door. Mrs. MacTattie shut it behind him. It hopped over to Donaldâ??s cradle, near his brothers, and jumped up on it. Itâ??s long whiskers wriggled and its wet nose twitched. Donald started to giggle. It tickled his cheeks with its long, gray, furry ears. Mrs. MacTattie didnâ??t seem to mind that the hare was touching her baby with its long ears. Mr. MacTattie stared at the animals standing in his house. He didnâ??t know if he liked that or not, but the boys werenâ??t crying anymore. Every day from then on, when the boys were out in their prams; the three animals came to play with them. Every night, when Mrs. MacTattie was trying to fix supper, the animals came inside and played with the boys some more. Mr. and Mrs. MacTattie were happy. The Highland cow, sheep, and hare were happy; but most of all Duncan, Douglas, and Donald were happy.
GRANDFATHER TELLS THE CHILDREN THE STORY OF THE GREAT FLOOD Author: Francis Kerr Young It was a warm Canadian summer day near the Head-of-the-Lake where Grandfather was sitting in his rocking chair, half-dozing in the late morning sun. The happy cries of children made him sit up straight. The hubbub was being caused by Ashley-Anne and April, his two granddaughters. They scampered up the four steps onto the porch to kiss and hug him. "Hello Papa!" chorused the two girls. "An' how's ma favourite gran'weans the day?" asked Papa, his accent just as thick as the day he had sailed from the Broomielaw, some forty years earlier. "Ah'm fine, Papa!" answered Ashley-Anne, trying to imitate her Grandfather's burr. "Ye cheeky wee imp, ye!" smiled Grandfather with a mock scolding. "Where were ye the day?" "We were at church with Daddy!" piped up five-year-old April, pointing to her father as he strolled up the garden path. "Oh, ye were at the kirk, were ye? So that's why ye're a' dressed up in braw frocks. Tell me, whit did ye learn the day?" asked Papa. Ashley-Anne, being taller because she was two years older than her sister, looked down into April's sky-blue eyes. Both girls bowed their heads in silence. "They both fell asleep in church," Daddy said. "Oh, so that's why ye're ashamed," said Grandfather. He gazed up to ask, "It must hae been a gey borin' sermon. Whit wis it aboot, Graham?" "Noah," replied his son. "Och aye - Noah," smiled Grandfather. "Ye wid hae thocht the minister wid've made yon tale excitin' enough tae keep the bairns wakened." "Papa, can you tell us the story of Noah?" asked Ashley-Anne. "Och, Ah suppose Ah could," replied Grandfather, rubbing his chin, his mind trying to recollect hazy Sunday School memories from a distant boyhood. (Although Grandfather was not a regular churchgoer he did have an excellent memory for historical dates). "Jist sit doon there an' tell ye the story as Ah remember it." "Then I'll help Gran prepare the Sunday dinner," said Daddy and entered the house. "Noo, let's see . . . How did it a' begin?" mused Grandfather, peering down with pride at his grandchildren: Ashley-Anne with cobalt blue-grey eyes and spun-gold hair, and April with fiery curls. Both were in pink dresses and bows, alike, yet not alike. "Och aye, Ah mind noo: "A lang, lang time ago, back afore clocks were invented, somewhere oot in the Middle East, near Eden or wis it Aden? There wis a time when a' the folk were bad, so bad, that they were wicked. An' the wicked things they did wis terrible, so terrible that Ah cannae tell ye whit they did. Bit it wis worse than pickin' yer nose an' dichtin' it oan yer breeks! "Noo, The Lord God Almighty wisnae too happy aboot these folk, so he disguised Himself like a regular man an' walked through the touns an' cities lookin' for somebody that was still guid. He knew that if ony guid person saw Him, He wid be recognised. "Months went by an' still naebody showed ony interest in The Lord. He wis strollin' through a forest o' gopher trees yin day thinkin' aboot His Problem: Should He zap the Earth an' start a' ower again or should jist get rid o' the bad folk. Suddenly He found this auld guy kneelin' at His Feet. "'Noah!' He says, 'Ye're kneelin' doon afore Me.' "The man ignored Him an' said, 'Ah'm no' kneelin' doon fur onybody. Ah'm lookin' fur ma glesses. Och, here they are!' He pit oan his spectacles an' squinted up in amazement. 'Oh dear! It's The Lord! Ah'm awfy sorry, Lord!' "'It's a' richt Noah!' The Lord assured him. "Dinna fash yersel' man! Get up oan yer feet. Tell me, how's the faimly?' "'Och, jist daein' fine, Lord. Ah canna complain. Ah've mair gran'weans than Ah can coont. Ye've been awfy guid tae me ower the years.' He reached oot an' caught a gran'dochter oan the run, 'Here Jessie, run ower tae the hoose an' tell yer Gran tae pit the kettle oan. Tell her, Himself is here for a visit an' tae pit oot the waddin' cheeny!' As he let the wee lass gang awa', he said: 'Ye'll be stayin' fur a cup o' tea, Lord?" "At that very meenit, Oor Lord had found the solution tae the problem. He pit His Arm aroon' Noah's shoo'der an' asked him: 'Noah, how dae ye fancy a cruise?' "A wee while later, efter The Lord an' Noah had a cup o' tea an' a scone, the auld man, he was almost six hunner-year-auld ye ken, spoke up an' said: "'Ye ken, Lord, Ah quite fancy a cruise, bit Ah dinna hae ony money.'" "'Och man, dinna fash yersel' aboot that," came His Reply. 'It'll be a workin' holiday for ye an' the missus. Ye can takâ?? a' yer kids an' their spouses. Aye, an' a' yer gran'weans tae.' "'Ok. Ah'll get the women tae start packin' an' the lads tae roon' up a' the camels,' said Noah. 'We'll start oot fur the seaside first thing the morra.' "'Na - na!" protested The Lord. "Ah want ye tae build an Ark richt here.' "Noo Noah wisnae a man tae argy wi' The Lord although he did point oot that he didna ken how tae build an Ark. â??Thatâ??s aw richt Noah,â?? says The Lord. â??Aâ??ll gie a blueprint. Ahâ??ve goat a wee bitty experience oan design work.â?? He added then telt him tae chap doon enough gopher-wid trees tae build an Ark three hunner cubits lang, fifty cubits broad, an' thirty cubits high." "What's a cubit, Papa?" asked Ashley-Anne. "Eh? The distance frae here tae there," replied Grandfather, drawing a finger from his elbow, along his forearm to his fingertips. He continued his story. "It took a' the men a while tae build the Ark. An' a' this while the women collected puffed wheat an' ither cereals, alang wi' fruit tae make jam fur jeelly pieces. They made lots o' biscuits 'n' pies 'n' things for the journey. "As the Ark was beginnin' tae take shape, folk wid come frae a nearby toun tae laugh at them. 'Whit's this?' they wid shout an' pint, 'Kilncadzow dry docks?' Bit Noah an' his faimly jist ignored them. They wid be laughin' oan the ither side o' their faces afore lang. "Finally the big day came an' the Ark wis feenished. Noah's second auldest lad wis jist hammerin' in the last nail when The Almighty appeared. He walked roon' the craft, strolled up the ramp oan the side, an' climbed up the three decks tae hae a look at the skylight oan the tap deck. There wis a strong smell o' tor because the hale vessel hid been coated, inside an' oot, wi' pitch - as per The Lord's Instructions. "'You an' yer lads ha' done a rare joab Noah,' said The Lord. 'Noo, Ah'd like ye tae gether up a' the animals oan this list an' pit them in the stalls provided in the Ark. Ye'll hiv tae collect yin male an' yin female o' each kind, except for the clean animals. Sheep, kye, chickens, an' the like. Ye'll need fourteen o' each - seevin male an' seevin female. Oh aye, an' the pigs will hiv tae be kosher. An' anither thing, afore Ah forget, hae a couple o' yer lads bag up a' the gopher-wid sawdust an' shavin's. It'll came in handy for beddin' doon the beasts oan the trip. Ah see ye've been storin' grub for yersel's oan the voyage, dae the same for the animals. Ah'll be back aboot the middle o' February tae see how ye're gettin' oan.' "An' sure enough, oan the seventeenth o' February in the year 2348 BC, The Lord showed up tae see if Noah wis ready. "'Weel done Noah! Are ye a' set for a sail doon the watter?' asked The Almighty. "'Aye, jist aboot Lord,' replied Noah. 'There's jist a few odds an' ends tae tidy up.' "A week later, Noah, his faimly, an' a' the animals, wis packed up shipshape an' ready for the voyage. He scratched his beard an' stared aff intae the distance. Big black clouds were scuddin' in frae the Cairngorms. 'It looks like we're in for a shoo'er o' rain,' he forecasted, addin': 'Ah gled Ah dinnae come frae Fife!' "'Aye,' The Lord said in agreement. "There's goin' tae be a puckle o' rain a'richt. Noah, ye'd better nip up the gangway the noo, an' Ah'll snib the door for ye. Bon voyage!' "The big door oan the side o' The Ark was slammed shut jist as the first giant raindraps came splatterin' doon when The Almighty left in a great big bolt o' lightnin'. "Some time later Noah could hear somebody batterin' oan the ootside o' The Ark, so he goat oot his umbrella an' went up oan deck. He looked doon tae see some folk standin' waist deep in rain watter an' hammerin' oan the keel. "'Here youse!' he shouted. 'Stoap that bangin' oan this boat. Ye micht dae some damage!' "'Can ye take us oan board?' a man shouted up at Noah. "'Sure,' replied Noah. 'Dae ye hae a ticket?' "The man shook his heid. "'Well, ye cannae get oan board athoot a ticket!" Noah yelled through the peals o' thunder. "'How dae Ah get a ticket?' the man hailed back. "'Jist ask The Lord, He'll gie ye yin.' "'Och, we dinna speak tae The Lord,' answered the man. 'We dinna hae time for Him!' "'Then ye dinna hae a prayer!' scoffed Noah, an' went back doon ablow for a bowl o' hoat parritch. "The rain kept teemin' doon an' it wisna lang until the Ark began tae float away." "What happened to the people that didn't get on the Ark, Papa?" asked Ashley-Anne. "Oh - eh - " hedged Grandfather. "They jist went fur a dook doon the Clyde . . . Onywey, oan wi' the story!" he continued: "Well, the rain wis tae pelt doon for forty days an' nichts. The wind wis howlin' a' that time. Lightnin' could be seen flashin' past the skylight windy, an' thunder boomed like cannon fire. The Ark bobbed oan giant waves, up an' doon, up an' doon, jist like a cork. Bit the Ark didnae leak. "Aboot a fortnicht efter they had floated away, a' the ewes birthed twa lambs each. That worked oot tae . . . Let's see noo - " Grandfather counted on his fingers. "Fourteen, Papa!" laughed Ashley-Anne who had learned her two-times table at school. "That's richt!" agreed Grandfather. "Ye're a clever wee lassie! Ye'll hae tae show April here how tae coont when she's aulder. "So oan wi' the story: A' the wee boys an' lassies weren't as feart onymair 'cause they had wee lambs tae cuddle an' play wi'. Oan the twinty-eighth o' March, the rain finally stoapped, bit the waves were still awfy big. Noo there wis nae plug hole tae drain aâ?? yon watter awaâ??. So the sun heated it up an' made it intae big white fluffy clouds. Bit the air was awfy foggy while this wis happeninâ?? - jist like a Glesga steamie. They drifted for anither forty days until it cleared, an' by the seventeenth o' July, the Ark cam' tae rest oan a mountain. Since it was the middle o' summer, a' the sheep were pechin' frae the heat so Noah had them a' sheared. The fleeces were made intae winter jaickets which were named efter the mountain the Ark rested oan: Mount Anorak! "By the first o' October, ither mountains could be seen, an' forty days later, Noah decided tae let go a craw, or wis it a raven? Whitever - it flew for a couple oâ?? miles anâ?? suddenly sterted shakinâ?? its heid bit kept oan fleeinâ?? until the watters receded. Tae this very day, aâ?? the craws frae Ponfeigh flee backwards tae keep the stour oot oâ?? their eâ??en. "Then Noah sent oot a cushy doo. The doo couldna find a place tae land so it flew back tae its dookie in the Ark. A week later, oan the mornin' o' November the seventeenth, Noah sent the cushy doo awaâ?? again an' it came back that nicht wi' an olive leaf in its beak. Noah kent that the watter wis goin' doon for sure. Anither week went by an' he set the doo free again, bit this time, it didna come back. "Oan Ne'erday, Noah took the watterproof tarp aff the upper deck. There wis still a lot o' watter left so they a' had anither six or seven weeks tae wait. The big day came oan the twinty-seventh o' February, 2347 BC. The Earth wis dry an' the sun wis shinin', when Noah an' his faimly daunâ??erd oot the Ark. Steppinâ?? very carefully ahent the kye, anâ?? a' the animals, they herded in front o' them, anâ?? headed oan doon the mountain tae live happily ever efter . . . Well, at least until Exodus!" "Supper's ready!" Gran shouted, tapping on the window. Grandfather arose from his rocking chair and toddled towards the door, followed by a barrage of questions from the two children.
THE PECHS Author: A Traditional Scottidsh Story "LONG ago there were people in this country called the Pechs; short wee men they were, wiâ?? red hair, and long arms, and feet sae braid, that when it rained they could turn them up owre their heads, and then they served for umbrellas. The Pechs were great builders; they built aâ?? the auld castles in the kintry; and do ye ken the way they built them?â??Iâ??ll tell ye. They stood all in a row from the quarry to the place where they were building, and ilk ane handed forward the stanes to his neebor, till the hale was biggit. The Pechs were also a great people for ale, which they brewed frae heather; sae, ye ken, it bood (was bound) to be an extraornar cheap kind of drink; for heather, Iâ??se warrant, was as plenty then as itâ??s now. This art oâ?? theirs was muckle sought after by the other folk that lived in the kintry; but they never would let out the secret, but handed it down frae father to son among themselves, wiâ?? strict injunctions frae ane to another never to let onybody ken about it. "At last the Pechs had great wars, and mony oâ?? them were killed, and indeed they soon came to be a mere handfuâ?? oâ?? people, and were like to perish aftâ?? the face oâ?? the earth. Still they held fast by their secret of the heather yill, determined that their enemies should never wring it frae them. Weel, it came at last to a great battle between them and the Scots, in which they clean lost the day, and were killed aâ?? to tway, a father and a son. And sae the king oâ?? the Scots had these men brought before him, that he might try to frighten them into telling him the secret. He plainly told them that, if they would not disclose it peaceably, he must torture them till they should confess, and therefore it would be better for them to yield in time. â??Weel,â?? says the auld man to the king, â??I see it is of no use to resist. But there is ae condition ye maun agree to before ye learn the secret.â?? â??And what is that?â?? said the king. â??Will ye promise to fulfil it, if it be na anything against your ain interests?â?? said the man. â??Yes,â?? said the king, â??I will and do promise so.â?? Then said the Pech â??You must know that I wish for my sonâ??s death, though I dinna like to take his life myself. My son ye maun kill, Before I will you tell How we brew the yill Frae the heather bell!â?? The king was dootless greatly astonished at sic a request; but, as he had promised, he caused the lad to be immediately put to death. When the auld man saw his son was dead, he started up wiâ?? a great stend,â?? and cried, â??Now, do wiâ?? me as you like. My son ye might have forced, for he was but a weak youth; but me you never can force. And though you may me kill, I will not you tell How we brew the yill Frae the heather bell!â?? "The king was now mair astonished than before, but it was at his being sae far outwitted by a mere wild man. Hooever, he saw it was needless to kill the Pech, and that his greatest punishment might now be his being allowed to live. So he was taken away as a prisoner, and he lived for mony a year after that, till he became a very, very auld man, baith bedrid and blind. Maist folk had forgotten there was sic a man in life; but ae night, some young men being in the house where he was, and making great boasts about their feats oâ?? strength, he leaned owre the bed and said he would like to feel ane oâ?? their wrists, that he might compare it wiâ?? the arms of men wha had lived in former times. And they, for sport, held out a thick gaud oâ?? emâ?? to him to feel. He just snappit it in tway wiâ?? his fingers as ye wad do a pipe stapple. â??Itâ??s a bit gey gristle,â?? he said; â??but naething to the shackle-banes oâ?? my days.â?? That was the last oâ?? the Pechs."
THE COCKSTANE OF FINEGAND Author: Danny Elliott Whilst standing before The Cockstane of Finegand Surrounded by woods With tall leafy bough I heard in the days Long ago gone before us A legend so grand Of the MacOmish clan They tell of how when One night â??o so gloomy When all of the town folk Had called it a day In middle of night With no moon there â??a showing A rooster flew top Of the rock and did crow Was strange why this cock Should be calling so early The dawn of the day Was so far away But cock he did cry And was so alarming It woke all the village In beds where they lay Arise from your sleep, 'O village of Finegand Arise from your sleep, Canâ??t you hear the cock crow Arise from your sleep, 'O clan of MacOmish Arise from your sleep, To the rock you must go So grabbed they their weapons Of warfare to carry With dirk and the broadsword To rock men did run And gathered they near To see this strange going But cock stopped â??a crowing When all had got there They waited for hours To see what was coming Surely this cock Had forewarned them of doom Near to the point Of calling an ending When strange sounds they heard From the deep darken wood Arise from your sleep, 'O village of Finegand Arise from your sleep, Canâ??t you hear the cock crow Arise from your sleep, 'O clan of MacOmish Arise from your sleep, To the rock you must go A band was coming To steal all belongings Twas raiders to take Everything in their sight Bumping and tripping Loud sounds they were making Through forest they stumbled With all of their might Instead of a village Asleep in the nighttime They found all the town folk To arms they had come To fight off these villains And send them â??a screaming Cut down these raiders And let their blood flow Arise from your sleep, 'O village of Finegand Arise from your sleep, Victory is at hand Arise from your sleep, 'O clan of MacOmish Arise from your sleep, To the rock you must go From then till today The clan they still gather At rock where they came The night the cock called To vow their allegiance To chief and to brothers To thank the dear Lord For the cock that did crow So if you are ever In bonnie old Scotland To Finegand near Glenshee You surely must go Stand at the rock All the town folk call Cockstane By moonlight they say You still hear the cock crow Arise from your sleep, 'O village of Finegand Arise from your sleep, All ye ghosts of the land Arise from your sleep, 'O clan of MacOmish Arise from your sleep, To the rock you must go by Danny Elliott copyrighted 2005@ Library of Congress
BLESS THIS HOUSE Author: from Electric Scotland Bless this house, O Lord, we pray; Make it safe by night and day; Bless these walls so firm and stout, Keeping want and trouble out: Bless the roof and chimneys tall, Let thy peace lie over all; Bless this door, that it may prove Ever open to joy and love. Bless these windows shining bright, Letting in God's heav'nly light; Bless the hearth a'blazing there, With smoke ascending like a prayer; Bless the folk who dwell within, Keep them pure and free from sin; Bless us all that we may be Fit, O Lord, to dwell with thee; Bless us all that one day we May dwell, O Lord, with thee.
FLOWER OF SCOTLAND Author: Corries O flower of Scotland When will we see Your like again That fought and died for Your wee bit hill and glen And stood against him Proud Edward's army And sent him homeward Tae think again. The hills are bare now And autumn leaves lie Thick and still O'er land that is lost now Which those so dearly held And stood against him Proud Edward's army And sent him homeward Tae think again. Those days are passed now And in the past They must remain But we can still rise now And be the nation again That stood against him Proud Edward's army And sent him homeward Tae think again.
SCOTLAND THE BRAVE Author: Cliff Hanley Hark when the night is falling Hear! hear the pipes are calling, Loudly and proudly calling, Down thro' the glen. There where the hills are sleeping, Now feel the blood a-leaping, High as the spirits Of the old Highland men. Chorus: Towering in gallant fame, Scotland my mountain hame, High may your proud standards Gloriously wave, Land of my high endeavour, Land of the shining river, Land of my heart for ever, Scotland the brave. High in the misty Highlands, Out by the purple islands, Brave are the hearts that beat Beneath Scottish skies. Wild are the winds to meet you, Staunch are the friends that greet you, Kind as the love that shines From fair maiden's eyes. Chorus: Far off in sunlit places, Sad are the Scottish faces, Yearning to feel the kiss Of sweet Scottish rain. Where tropic skies are beaming, Love sets the heart a-dreaming, Longing and dreaming For the homeland again. Chorus:
AULD LANG SYNE Author: Robert Burns Should auld acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne? Chorus For auld lang syne, my jo, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. For auld, etc. We twa hae run about the braes, And pou'd the gowans fine; But we've wander'd mony a weary fit, Sin' auld lang syne. For auld, etc. We twa hae paidl'd in the burn, Frae morning sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar'd. Sin' auld lang syne. For auld, etc. And there's a hand, my trusty fiere! And gie's a hand o' thine! And we'll tak' a right gud-wellie waught, For auld lang syne. For auld, etc.
HISTORY OF CLAN FRASER Author: Clan Fraser The Frasers first appear in Scotland around 1160 when Simon Fraser made a gift of a church at Keith in East Lothian to the monks at Kelso Abbey. These lands eventually passed to a family who became Earls Marischal of Scotland, after adopting Keith as their name. The Frasers moved into Tweed-dale in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries and from there into the counties of Stirling, Angus, Inverness and Aberdeen. About five generations later, Sir Simon Fraser (the Patriot) was captured fighting for Robert the Bruce, and executed with great cruelty by Edward I in 1306. The Patriot's line ended in two co-heiresses: the elder daughter married Sir Hugh Hay, ancestor of the Earls of Tweeddale, and the younger daughter married Sir Patrick Fleming, ancestor of the Earls of Wigton. Sir Andrew Fraser of Touch-Fraser (d. 1297), cousin of the patriot, was the father of Sir Alexander Fraser of Cowie (ancestor of the Frasers of Philorth), Sir Simon Fraser (ancestor of the Frasers of Lovat), Sir Andrew Fraser, and Sir James Fraser of Frendraught, whose line ended with his great-granddaughter, Mauld Fraser, who married Alexander Dunbar of Moray. Sir Alexander was killed at the Battle of Dupplin in 1332 and his three younger brothers were killed at the Battle of Halidon Hill in 1333. For more go to http://www.fraserclan.com
SCOTS WHA HAE Author: Sung by the Glasgow Orpheus Choir Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Weelcome tae yer gory bed, Or tae Victorie! Now's the day, and now's the hour: See the front o' battle lour, See approach proud Edward's power - Chains and Slaverie! Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha will fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha, for Scotland's king and law, Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or Freeman fa', Let him on wi' me! By Oppression's woes and pains, By your sons in servile chains, We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low, Tyrants fall in every foe, Liberty's in every blow - Let us do or dee! Listen to this song at http://www.electricscotland.com/poetry/henderson/singalong/wav/Scots%20Wha%20Hae.wav
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