Sough o' war

32
FAE FRANCE
I join the dancers on the buird schottischin’ at
the games,
An’ scutter in the lang forenichts wi’ britchin,
bit, an’ haims;
Or maybe, cockit on the shaft, fan cairtin’ corn
or bear.
Cry ‘ Hie ’ an’ ‘ Wo ’ an’ ‘ Weesh ’ again to
guide the steppin’ mear.
An’ in the daylicht tee,, at times, fan lyin’ here
sae saft,
I've dream’t, gin eence the war was by, o’
takin’ on a craft.
Fan a’thing’s sattled for the nicht in stable
an’ in byre.
It’s fine to hae yer ain bow-cheer drawn up
anent the fire,
An’ hear a roch reid-heidit bairn, wi’ femy-
tickled nose,
Tired oot an’ hungry fae the closs, come yaum-
merin’ for his brose ;
An’ syne a wife—but, weesht! for here’s my
nurse, the couthy ted,
Come cryin’ I maun dicht my pen, an’ hirsle
to my bed.
Gweed nicht!—but bide, or I forget; there’s
jist ae little thing—