Sunday, July 15, 2007

The Daft Days

Nou mirk Dizember's dowie face
Glowers ower the rigs wi soor grimace,
While, throu his meenimum o space,
The bleer-ee'd sun
Wi blinkin licht an stealin pace,
His race dis rin.

Frae nakit groves nae birdie sings,
Tae shepherd's pipe nae hillock rings,
The breeze nae oderous flavour brings
Frae Borean cave,
An dwynin naitur droops her wings,
Wi veesage grave.

Mankynd but scanty pleisur glean
Frae snawy hill or barren plain,
Whan Winter, mids his nippin train,
Wi frozen spear,
Sends drift ower aw his bleak domain,
An guides the weir.

Auld Reekie! thoo're the cantie hole,
A bield for mony cauldrif sauls,
Thare snugly at thine ingle lolls,
Baith wairm an couth;
While roond thay gar the bicker rolls
Tae weet thair mooths.

Whan merry Yuil-day comes, A trowe
You'll scantlins find a hungry mou;
Smaw are oor cares, oor stamacks fou
O gustie gear,
An kickshaws, streengers tae oor view,
Sin Fern-year.

Ye brewster wifes, nou busk ye braw,
An fling your sorraes faur awa;
Than come an gie's the tither blaw
O reamin ale,
Mair precious than the wall o Spa,
Oor herts tae heal.

Than, tho at odds wi aw the warld,
Amang oorsels we'll niver quarrel;
Tho Discord gie's a cankert snarl
Tae spyle oor glee,
As lang's thare's pith intae the baurel
We'll drink an gree.

Fiddlers, your pins in temper fix,
An roset weel your fiddle-sticks,
But bainish vile Italian tricks
Frae oot your quorum,
Nor fortes wi pianaes mix,
Gie's Tulloch Gorum.

For nocht can cheer the hert sae weel
As can a cantie Hieland reel,
It even vivifee's the heel
Tae skip an dance:
Lifeless is he that canna feel
Its influence.

Lat mirth aboond, lat social cheer
Invest the dawin o the year;
Lat blithesome innocence appear
Tae croun oor joy,
Nor envy wi sarcastic sneer
Oor bliss destroy.

An thoo, great god o Aqua Veetæ!
That sways the empire o this ceety,
Whan fou we're sometimes capernoitie,
Be thoo prepared
Tae hedge us frae that black banditti,
The Ceety-Gaird.


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