‘Bobbie’ for Brotherhood (C J Dennis Poems)
Lang syne I penned a mickle rhyme That muckle grief brocht to my soul;For critics said 'twas aye a ...
Lang syne I penned a mickle rhyme That muckle grief brocht to my soul;For critics said 'twas aye a ...
Did ye see the Bowgie man Stan'in' at the door?Ae big pock flung owre his back, Anither doon afore.Did ye ...
San' man frae the quarry hole, Bring a pouk o' san';Stan' ahint my back, an' tak' A neivefu' in your ...
O a' the ills that come to swall a wearit mither's grief,The warst is when her laddie winna tak' his ...
A lile wind kindly blaws to-day;They're takin' Dick, fra' ower t' way,To Dallow. Dick 'ud be reet fainTo rest theer, ...
O, mither, sing a sang to the bairns, When the nicht-fa' gathers them in;Wee Jamie oot at his elbows an' ...
Is wee Jamie waukin' yet? Lyin' unco lang;Better cuddlin' in his bed When his mammy's thrang.Here he's comin' ow'r the ...
T' ground rises brantly to nor'-east,Wi' t' walls zigzaggin' ower t' intake-T' walls 'at wur builded first by t' Danes,Girt ...
Cauld blew the blast frae East to Wast,A blast wi' a smirr o' snaw,An' it took the doctor's guid lum ...
'My stead's far end o' neeawheer,Neea lass wud care to settle there:Afore she died, my mother said,"It's time, dear lad, ...
Auld Johnnie Noddle sleeps through a' the day,Sleeps until the sun gangs doon an' a' the licht away;Then he waukens ...
The bairns i' their beds, worn oot wi' nae wark,Are sleepin, nor ever an eelid winkin;The auld fowk lie still ...
'Twas in a wee bit but-an'-benShe bade when first I kent her,Doon the side roadie by the kirkWhaur Andra was ...
Air — "Landlady, count the lawin."O weel's me on my ain man!My ain man, my ain man;O, weel's me on ...
Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?"I bide in ilka breath,"Quo' Death;"No i' the pyramids,No whaur the wormie rids'Neth coffin-lids;I ...
I have a kitlin black as neet,A canty kit wi' ways sae sweet.Its nose is white, its whiskers leet. ...
GUID-MORNIN' to our Majesty! May Heaven augment your blisses On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, A humble poet wishes. My ...
The Hielan' lassies are a' for spinnin', The Lowlan' lassies for prinkin' and pinnin'; My daddie w'u'd chide me, an' ...
You may talk o' your lutes and your dulcimers fine, Your harps and your tabors and cymbals and a', But ...
"Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither's postit tae me? It fair maks me hamesick," says Private McPhee. "And whit ...
Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska tae Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye: "That's whit I hate maist aboot fechtin' -- it makes ...
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