Songs and rhymes of a lead miner — A Reader’s Guide

They had nae time the scene tae view, Sae hurried owre the mountain's broo, An' doon the brae they ran pell-mell Tae hae a drink at Katie's Well, "Whaur Black M'Michael's bearded lip Yince fain did dip."

Then doon they ran wi' muckle speed, Tae Nature's charms they paid nae heed, An' didna slack their pace a jot Until they reached the Lucky Pot[1]; Sae awfu' keen an' anxious they Tae see if luck was theirs that day.

Then walin' steps wi' canny care They gaed alang the hill-side bare, Whaur Kelt,[2], the hound, fell aff his steed When Harkness[3] shot him through the heid; The roarin' pool whaur he fell in Has since been known as Kelty's Linn.

There fore-nent them Stey-Guile stood, Defyin' time an' storms an' flood; They gazed upon its steepest side, Doon whaur 'twas said bold Graham[4] did ride, His pony shod wi' deevils' cloots; 'Twas maybe true. "They had some doots."

Owre Dalveen Hill an' doon the brae Richt cheerily they held their way; An' when they High Dalveen had passed They reached the Carron Burn at last; Then fast their taikle they gat oot, Their minds fair set on killin' troot.

Then Wullie, keen his skill tae test, Got started weel afore the rest; He banged oot yin, syne made it twa; When oot cam' three, lie croose did craw. "Come here, ma callans, gin ye wish, I'll show ye hoo tae catch the fish."

"But pleesures are like poppies spread, Ye seize the floo'er, its bloom is shed;" He thocht he was a fisher rare, But, strange tae say, he gat nae mair; An' then he cried "I'll bet a quid It's been the tail en' o' the tid."

But Rab an' Tam, mair skilfu' they, On pools an' streams their flees did play; They played wi' sic a cunnin' wrist The finny tribe couldnae resist, But lap an' danced at bob an' trail; Some e'en were hookit by the tail.

Doon by Stonebutt an' by the Brig, They landed fishes wee an' big; An' when they reached the Carron Mill, O' fishin' they had got their fill: An' here a signboard took their e'e, A maist uncommon sign tae see:

"Ginger-beer an' lemonade, Here as guid as can be made, An' if ye want some more repast, Dinner, supper, or breakfast;" These lines, my friens, depend upon it, Composed were by Grier the Poet.

The landlord there, a sober chiel, Wad hae nae traffic wi' the deil: O' aqua vitae he had nane; Sair did oor weary fishers grane; An' ere they rested on their hurdies, Hied owre the hill tae Tam o' Murdy's.

Tam o' Murdy's, Durisdeer, Was famed for Mountain Dew an' beer, An' ony ither kin' o' drink, But jist for them wha had the clink: For Tammy, tho' a kin'ly man, Could aye look efter num'er wan.

An' there they sat an' smoked an' sang, An' gill stoups toomed o' liquor strang, Which quickly put them a' at ease, In tellin' stories, maistly lees, O' salmon they had landed oot, An' hoo they lost their biggest troot.

Their pooches toom, nae mair tae spen', Their nonsense sune cam' tae an en', An' forced were they tae tak' the gait, Tho' they were in a muddled state. The moon on them was shinin' clear, When leavin' guid auld Durisdeer.

They wandered on, whiles up, whiles doon, An' heard fu' mony an eerie soon; The fitpath wasna' braid aneuch, They tumelt in the burn an' sheuch; They staggered in amang the dreels, O' turnip, kail, an' tattie fiel's.

An' tho' they had nae wish tae tarry, Their legs refused the drink tae carry: An'' doon on Carron's hichts they sank, An' for a time their min's were blank; Hoo they gat hame, what them befel, Deil yin o' them could ever tell.

When man is on enjoyment bent, O' aftermath he should tak' tent, An' no abuse John Barleycorn, Or life o' pleesure will be shorn.

[1] A natural pot formation in the bare rock in the middle of the burn, about twenty yards down from the foot-path from which, if a fisher, in the morning, out of three stones put one in the lucky pot, his luck was in for that day.

[2] Captain of Dragoons searching for Covenanters amongst the hills.

[3] One of the hunted Covenanters.

[4] Graham of Claverhouse, of whom many marvellous stories have been told.

_Song or Recitation._ _Tune: "Tinker's Waddin'."_

In August, when the heather blooms, An' grouse are fairly on the wing, The scented breeze frae hill an' moor, Tae hunters health an' pleesure bring.

Then hunters meet at Auld Troloss, As they hae dune for mony a year: Tam Johnston ready taks the names O' beaters there frae far an' near.

The Laird aye greets them wi' a smile, An' shakes auld servants by the han'; Nae purse-prood autocrat is he, But jist a kindly gentleman.

Aye weel esteemed are men like him, An' loyal service they comman'; It isna siller, pomp, or power, But honest worth that maks the man.

The guns gae first; each finds his butt; Then beaters bauldly briest the brae; Lang miles atween them an' their hames-- Their herts are licht, sae what care they?

They drive the Hoose, they drive the drain, An' next in order comes the mine; Success does a' their efforts croon, When Tammas Johnston marks the line.

An' thus the merry hunt goes on, Drive after drive they run them in; An' when they get back tae the Hoose, They ken their heavy darg is dune.

They there get coffee in their turn, Some hae milk an' some hae tea, Wi' routh o' breed weel spread wi' jam, An' a bicker o' the barley bree.

A few choice spirits meet at nicht Tae spen' a happy social 'oor, When ilka yin is blyth an' bricht, An' meenits pass like fleein' stour.

The gentry a' maun share the fun, Nae cless distinction dae they show; Tae Gracie's fiddle weel in tune They trip the "licht fantastic toe."

Carmichael is a canty chiel, Tae sing a sang he is'na sweir-- The "Tinkers' Waddin'," "Spellin' o't," An' "Bonnie Lass o' Durisdeer."

Then Laidlaw sings aboot the hills, Up whaur the Wanlock waters rowe, An' "True till death," "The Eastern Star," An' "Jessie on the Quarry Knowe."

Miss Vickers an' Miss Jonson, tae, The auld-time sangs sae sweetly sing, Accompanied by the auld banjo, The fiddle an' the mandolin.

The auld wife in the ingle neuk Raises her voice in cheerfu' key, An' nicely sings "Woods o' Duirmore," An' "The Bonnie Lad that comes tae me."

Coachman Fraser, stalwart wight, Does neist a humorous piece recite, Hoo Tibbie lood an' lang did growl When her puir bit lassie brak the bowl.

Then Lauder, tho' he canna sing. Does fairly dance the Heelan' Fling, An' Hornpipes, tae; wi' heavy wear, His feet like hammers strike the flair.

Gracie gies them o' his best Till voice an' airms are needin' rest; Hoo he does sing, hoo he does play, It wadna dae for me tae say.

The 'oor is gane; some maun gang hame; They canna' stay the han' o' time. They pairt tae meet some ither nicht, For the happy days o' Auld Langsyne.

_Chorus after every 2nd verse._

Durum dook an' doo an' dae, Durum dook an' derry O. Durum dook an' doo an' dae, Hurrah for the hunt sae merry O.

(_An otter was run down and killed by three lads belonging to Wanlockhead and Leadhills in the head of Pedan in the month of August, 1915. Some people say I have made a mountain out of a molehill in the following piece. I advise such to keep clear of the jaws of an otter if ever they run up against one._)

Tae the hunt! Tae the hunt! Come haste ye away! An otter's been seen on the Lowthers this day, An' brave lads are wanted the beast tae destroy, So it's Donal an' Archie an' Jock for the ploy.

They breisted the Lowthers like houn's frae the leash, In their herts an' their minds there were nae thochts o' peace; It was war, an' they cunnin'ly followed the trail That led them away for the hichts o' Powtrail.

"Tally Ho! Tally Ho!" was the hunters' wild cry, And speedily after the otter they hie; Thro' heather an' breckins, thro' threshes an' bent Regairdless o' danger oor brave trio went.

The chase it was stern and the chase it was lang Wi' the race tae the swift and the fecht tae the strang; They pressed him sae hard an' sae swiftly they ran He was forced for tae hole in the heid o' Pedan.

He holed in the broo o' a pool in the burn, Where water frae forking comes doon wi' a run: They had run him to earth, o' that they'd nae doot, The puzzle was noo hoo tae get the bruit oot.

Syne yin o' them stood at the heid o' the pool, Anither yin takin' his stance at the fit, While the third tried his best tae breck the broo doon, Makin' use o' the tae an' the heel o' his buit.

At last he cam' oot, makin' fast up a drain (For conveying the little springs intae the main), But Archie was ready, an' took a sure aim, An' knocked him doon deid wi' a big cobble stane.

Then here's tae the lads wha then did display Sic courage an' speed at the huntin' that day; An' lang may the tale roon the fireside be tauld Hoo the otter was killed by oor three hunters bauld.

To the mournful sound of the curfew's note, On to the churchyard they go; Bearing the form of a dear lost friend "With measured step and slow."

A moment they pause the cords to adjust, Then lower him into the ground, While paying their last respects to the dead The mourners stand around.

Reverently they cover him up (Of mortal this is the end); Then sadly leave him in the dust "Where the tall trees sway and bend."

In the winds that weep o'er the lowly graves Where the ashes of forebears lie, And the requiem sounds from the crystal stream That is swiftly flowing by.

When mist nae langer hides the brae, An' rain cluds flee afore the sun, Wi' rod in han' I slowly gang Awa' tae fish in Mennock Burn.

Dear Mennock Burn! What memories cling Roon ilka bend that's in thy course; For happy 'oors I spent in youth I thank thee for them wert the source.

I've fished ye when the days were short, I've fished ye when the days were lang (An' whiles wee Davy was my mate, An' whiles it was his brither Tam).

Frae Mossburn doon by Whitchincleuch, An' by the path that maks Glenym Tae whaur yer waters when in spate Gang roarin' owre the Horseman Linn;

An' then a wee bit farer on (I min' we got a hearty lauch When silly Rab fell in the burn) Whaur waters flow frae dark Glenclauch.

Those happy days are langsyne gane An' I am weirin' on in life; My pleasure's a' in lookin' back: There's naething noo but care and strife.

When Nature fails an' I maun bend An' fade jist like a witherin' tree, Beside ye, gin I hae my wish, I fain will lay me doon an' dee.

THE HEIGHTS OF GLENDYNE.

On a fair summer morn when the sun did adorn The top of Glengaber, Glencrieve, and Glenglass, I wandered away to the hill and the brae, At the footstool of Nature a few hours to pass. As I climbed the steep hill by the pure little rill That trills its sweet song 'mid the heather and thyme My memory swept back on its well-beaten track To the days of my boyhood and friends of langsyne.

From the head of Glendyne I kept a straight line As far as the rock where the fox makes his den, Where the hill of the bloody bell stands like a sentinel Guarding the pass to the bonnie Monk's Glen. Nowhere I have been is such wild beauty seen As that from the spot where I then took my stand; It must stir the cold heart, inspiration impart, These marvellous works of the Almighty hand.

Where is the pen 'mongst the learned of men That could to the mind's eye its beauties array? Where is the hand the brush could command Its splendours so solemn and wild to pourtray? Freedom from strife and the cares of this life I find in this solitude has its abode; The soul it is free as the soul ought to be To commune with Nature and worship its God.

A WADDIN' IN THE GLEN.

_Song._ _Tune: "A Hundred Pipers."_

Stranger--What's a' the steer in the village the nicht, An' what has gaen wrang wi' the folk? Villager--There's naething gane wrang, an' a' thing is richt; It's Meg gettin' mairit tae Jock. Ye see, when a waddin' taks place in the glen It is a momentous occasion, For a guid week afore't the hale o' the crack Is wha's bid tae the jollification.

Then haste ye awa' tae the waddin' the nicht! Dinna miss it whate'er may befa'! Ye'll never forget it as lang as ye leeve, The lassies are buskit sae braw.

When ye're bid ye maun hasten awa' tae the bride If ye can wi' a denty bit praisent, For the lassie we a' dae oor best ye maun ken Tae mak' her doon-sittin' fu' daicent. An' the women folk a' maun see the bride's braws, Ken what siller she got tae a fraction; An' the mair that she gets the mair they are pleased, It gies them the mair satisfaction.

The bride's freens meet in her faither's ain hoose, An' sit, if tae sit there is room, An' wait till they hear the fiddler's lilt That speedily brings the bridegroom. The minister then the marriage begins-- As a rule he is tauld tae be brief-- An' quickly he ties them a knot wi' his tongue They never can loose wi' their teeth.

An' then it's the grand procession that's formed; The best-man leads aff wi' the bride, While the bridegroom comes on at the tail o' the line Haudin' close tae the minister's side. The fiddler leads at a lively pace, An' clear frae his strings does he draw The bonnie sweet notes o' that auld-farrant tune, "Oh, it's woo'ed an' mairit an' a'."

The procession maun halt at the bridegroom's new hoose While the bride gangs in tae admire; Then a ferl o' breed is thrown owre her heid, An' wi' the poker she steers up the fire. The procession moves on, an' the auld wifies cry, "Eh, sirs, but she's bonnie an' braw!" The fiddler's tune at this juncture is drooned By the company's hearty "Hurrah."

A' the wey tae the Ha', whaur the supper is spread, They mairch tho' a mile an' mair; Auld Bacchus afore them aye beckons them on, For he's routh o' a' guid things there. When the supper is owre the minister speaks On the joys an' the sorrows o' life, Advises the bride tae be guid tae her man An' bridegroom tae be guid tae his wife.

Then "Weel may we be, ill may we ne'er see," Is sung by the guests in accord; At the end o' the roon, wi' a thunderin' soun', They frichten the rats frae the board; They disperse for a wee tae meet later on Tae hae a nicht's pleesure an' fun, For there's naething like daffin' an' dancing ye ken, Tae drive dowie care tae the wun'.

The fiddler tunes up an' rosins his bow, An' sooples his airm for the jinkin'; At the very first note that soons thro' the ha' The lads wi' the lassies come linkin'; The bride an' bridegroom lead aff the first dance, Weel pleased wi' ilk ither, I'm thinkin', While the auld yins that arena sae fleet o' the fit Gang canny awa' tae the drinkin'.

The fun an' the daffin gang on withoot check Till the nicht's turned intae the mornin'; They've even been kent for tae haud at the dance Till the sun the hill-taps was adornin'. But if dreich is the dance, the drinkin' is waur; Never heard is the craw o' the cock; For as lang as there's drink an' the jollity guid It's nae easy maiter tae stop.

"But the drink gangs dune afore the drooth," An' the herts o' the tipplers a' sadden, An' ilka yin noo maun fin' his wey hame, For that is the end o' the waddin'. Noo dinna ye think that they're gien tae the drink, An' tae honour they're no weel behaudin'; They're leal an' they're true, their marrows are few, Tho' they tak' a wee drap at a waddin'.

At dawn of day we sped away On the path that skirts the mine hill-side, Whaur Elvan Burn, wi' mony a turn, Gangs singing tae the River Clyde.

"When lazy loons did lie an' snore An' dream the gowden dawn away We lap the burn at Greenshields' door, An' breisted bauld the Wungate brae."[1]

Then owre the fence an' through the pass, That's cleft atween the Lowther hills, Whaur mountain air, sae pure an' rare, Blaws free frae Pedan's crystal rills.

Doon Pedan's vale straucht for Powtrail We gaed, an' in oor min's nae doot There was but what wi' flee or worm We'd land some bonnie speckled troot.

The sun shone bricht, oor herts were licht, We knew that we were better far Away frae city's din an' strife, Whaur Powtrail mingles wi' the Daur.

Three fishers keen as e'er were seen, Tae throw a line on loch or stream, Noo plied their rods wi' muckle skill, An' sune their creels began tae fill.

We fished the Annershy an' Squaw Frae noon weel on tae evenin' fa', Likewise Glenocher an' Glengeath, An' then we tramped across the heath,

Tae whaur the Toll Bar stood alane, Like oasis in a desert plain, Whaur weary fishers meet thegither, Tae rest or join the sang an' blether.

Like nectar was the landlord's cheer, Glenlivet, stout, an' reaming beer; But ere the drink could tak' oor brain We wisely took the road for hame.

Eicht lang Scots miles, an' uphill road, Besides o' fish a heavy load, We stauchert on wi' mony a grane, Vowing we'd ne'er gang back again.

But e'er a week its coorse had run, We thocht on naething but the fun We had on Clyde's clear sparklin' river, An' aff' we gaed as keen as ever.

Owre a hunner year auld, ye are still hale an' strang; Ye've seldom been kenned the time tae gie wrang; Tho' puirtith may come, an' misfortune befa', I never will pairt wi' ma Wag-at-the-Wa'.

Ye belanged tae ma granny when she was a bride; She coft ye an' fixed ye up on the wa' side; New-fashioned timers I've heard her misca' There ne'er was a clock like her Wag-at-the-Wa'.

When I cam' tae this warl' o' trouble an' sin, Whaur we work oor life oot tae keep oor life in, When I opened ma een, the first thing I saw Was the braw soncy face o' my Wag-at-the-Wa'.

It is easy tae see ye are no jerry made; Ye've been fashioned by workmen weel up tae their trade; The modern timepiece has nae chance ava' When compared wi' ma auld-farrant Wag-at-the-Wa'.

Many changes ye've seen since ye startit tae tick, Yer han's tae gang roun' an' yer wheels tae gang click; Ye sit on yer perch serene thro' them a' Steady markin' the time, ma Wag-at-the Wa'.

The mail coach has gane, an' the train's taen its place; We've Zepplins an' airyplanes fleein' in space; Wi' wire an' wi' wireless, an' X-rays an' a', Mony wonders ye've seen, ma Wag-at-the Wa'.

Electreecity harnessed likewise ye hae seen, Propellin' the ship an' the bauld submarine, Defyin' the elements, rain, wun', an' snaw; It's the age o' invention, ma Wag-at-the-Wa'.

In city an' country it's drivin' the trams, It will sune, I've nae doot, be applied tae the prams, The lorries and 'busses an' motor cars braw; What's next on the programme, ma Wag-at-the-Wa'?

Ye hae seen us in peace time, ye see us in war; The roar of the cannon is heard frae afar; The guid sword o' Freedom we strongly maun draw As oor sires did langsyne, ma Wag-at-the-Wa'.

The wecht o' oor blows the Kaiser maun feel Till he's seik at the hert an' ready tae kneel Tae oor brave sturdy Allies an' Britannia; Then peace will be lastin', ma Wag-at-the-Wa'.

Dear Wag-at-the-Wa', I hear by ye'r chime, It's time I was stoppin' this rummelin' rhyme; I'll blaw oot the can'le, on Morpheus I'll ca', An' I'll bid ye "guid-nicht," ma Wag-at-the-Wa'.