Scots Poems From The Dall

The Artist's Model She wis nae bobbydazzler Twa moles on her breist Her lugs stappit wi wax A tattoo o barbed weer on her airm She wis nae angel, either A wee stint in jyle, (petty theft o tights frae Primark) In a hameless centre ae winter Fin work wis scarce (aabody peintin lanscapes) Few thochts rattled roon her harns She wid sattle like a coo in a park Nae meevin, a statue on a cheer Deef tae the scrattin o pastels Aroon her, she'd be dowped in a dwaum Stock-still, nae bonnie, a hudderie heid The perfeck artist's model Sae quaet she cud be deid Morven Jamie When I rov'd a young Highlander o'er the dark heath, An climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow! To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath, Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below; Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear, And rude as the rocks, where my infancy grew, No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear; Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you? ...Lord Byron Oh Morven Hill's a bonnie hill Weel lued aroon Cromar It's steep an boggy, heather clad A Cairngorm star Its reets are in the Rashy Burn Balhennie and Roar Hill The Groddie Burn, the Coinlach Burn Far whaups an peesies trill An there, langsyne, a cateran bedd His name wis Morven Jamie McGregor on his mither's side He reived the kye frae mony McRobbie wis a smaa holder Fa grazed his breets roon Migvie He trailed the hoofprints o tint kye Straicht up tae Morven Jamie The leein vratch denied it aa McRobbie socht the laird The Earl o Abyne richt faist A writ on Jamie served An outlaw noo, he fled the place McRobbie's ferm he burned An tuik tae reivin kye frae droves An honest dealins scorned An whyles at Deskryside he bedd Weel hidden bi his brithers Noo Morven Jamie stole the breets Frae Strathdon's meenister The Strathdon cheils they swore tae catch This limmer o a reiver Bit Jamie he jinked clean awa An won the city's herbor Tae India he sailed awa He sclimmed fair Fortune's stairs An fin he deid a letter cam Tae Tarland tae his heirs Ochone! Its hyne frae Cromar's braes Tae Asian touns an wyes The heirs hid neither funds nur friens Tae claim thon siller prize King Robert the Bruce He spakk Scots, Gaelic, Latin and French. He studied the lives o past princes He wis kent as a gleg seannachie Telt tales aboot Hannibal's victories His rival wis Balliol's nephew, Lord of Badenoch, John III Comyn, In the Greyfriars chapel, Dumfries, There Robert confronted an stabbed him Syne Robert thegither wi ithers Planned tae heid an uprisin gainst England The Pope banned him fur Comyn's killin He escaped tae a cave on Rathlin Legend tells foo a wyver inspired him Tae gae back an engage wi the fray He raise up an strapped on his armour An set aff on his prood palfrey Eftir years o warssle an fechtin Robert Bruce declared himsel king Isabella the coontess o Buchan At Scone crooned him sovereign A warrior at Bannockburn, Sir Henry de Bohun bi name Charged on King Robert wi lowered lance By the king's battleaxe he wis slain Bruce defeated King Edward's army A 13 year truce wis agreed At Arbroath a declaration wis signed Scots screived they'd focht tae be freed The Treaty o Corbeil established Scotland's Auld Alliance wi France The Pope agreed that Scots monarchs Could be crooned, lat Scots fortunes advance His physician, Maino de Maineri, Criticized him fur devourin eels Drawn frae dubby an pysonous watters That fool orra ills micht conceal He's linked bi some wi the Knichts Templar He gied them support an protection An lat them hide relics in Rosslyn Hidden safe frae aa reivers' detection On the eve o his 55th birthday Robert Bruce deed o leprosy 7000 puns o caunle wax brunt At his funeral. Sic piety! His corp wis interred in Dunfermline His hairt placed inbye a cask Worn roon the neck o James Douglas, Tae the Haly Lan, a speecial task Tae jyne in the crusades wi Douglas Bit James wis killed fechtin in Spain ‘Lead on Brave Hairt an I'll follae' He threw the cask heich, an wis slain It wis saved an returned tae Scotland In Melrose Abbey it lies The Brave Hairt o Scotland's hero Unner the free open skies Winnin the Lottery There'll be nae mair double cream Poored ower hame grown rasps Frae the ferm kitchie gairden There'll be nae mair chukken broth Served in a fite bowl An a joog wi wild violets on the brod There'll be nae mair buttered scones In a basket wi a flask o tea Fur the hairsters in the park There'll be nae mair fite linen sheets Wallopin on the line In the simmer win There'll be nae mair Takkin a littlin tae see A new born calfie in the byre There'll be nae mair Skitterin crumbs fur a mither birdie Wi a nest o five blue eggs If there wis a lottery prize Fur bein a perfeck mither She'd be the prize Aabody winted tae win Childless, she mithered Her hennies, her calfies An ilkie wee stray ootlin That hytered her wey Cyber-Games Aabody's nebs in their smert phones Naebody spikks tae their bairns The anely soun's chingin o ring tones Fit's real an fits nae is kerfuffled Online ye can be fit ye like Truith an fiction are aften jermummled Is't a scammer that's sikkin tae swick ye? Ca-cannie, an hae a wee think If yer auld it's ower easy tae trick ye We survived afore twitter an tweetin A simpler an gleg generation An imoji that sees a frien smilin Is it true or a hallucination? Owersetts frae Sappho Glimmerin-Thochtit daithless Aphrodite Glimmerin-Thochtit daithless Aphrodite, I prig ye, Zeus's dother, wyver o snares, Dinna brakk ma hairt wi pouerfu Pain, goddess, Bit cam noo, gin iver afore Ye heard ma vyce, hyne aff, an lippened, An left yer faither's gowden hoose, An cam, Yokin yer chariot. Bonnie the faist Spurgies that brocht ye ower blaik yird A flichterin o wings throw mid-air Doon the lift. They cam. An ye, haly ane, Smilin wi daithless face, speirin Fit noo, while I suffer: foo noo I cry oot tae ye, again: Fit noo I wint abune aa in ma Wud hairt. ‘Fa noo, shall I persuad Tae admit ye again tae her luve, Sappho, fa wrangs ye noo? Gin she rins noo she'll follae later, Gin she refuses gifties she'll gie them. Gin she luves nae, noo, she'll sune Lue agin her will.' Cam tae me noo, syne, free me Frae sair sorra an win me Aa ma hairt langs tae win. Ye, Be ma frien. Cam tae me here frae Crete Cam tae me here frae Crete, Tae this haly temple, far Yer bonnie aipple grove stauns, An yer altars rikk Wi incense. An aneth the aipple branches, cauld Caller watter souns, aathin shaddaed Bi roses, an sleep that faas frae Bricht shakkin leaves. An a park fur shelts briers Wi the flooers o spring, an wins Are rinnin here like hinney: Cam tae me here, Here, Cyprian, doucely takkin Nectar in gowden cups Melled wi a festive blytheness, An pooer. Puckles say horsemen, puckles say fechters Puckles say horsemen, puckles say fechters Puckles say a fleet o ships is the bonniest Veesion in this derk warld, bit I say it's Fit ye lue. It's easy tae makk this clear tae aabody Since Helen, she fa oot sheened Aa ithers in bonnieness, left A fine man, An heidit fur Troy Wioot a thocht fur Her dother, her leal parents…Led astray… An I recaa Anaktoria, fas douce step Or thon flichter o licht on her face, I'd raither see than Lydian chariots Or the airmed ranks o the hoplites. Luve shuik ma hairt Luve shuik ma hairt Like the win on the Ben Tribblin the aik-trees. Quines, ye lang fur the perfumed flooered Quines, ye lang fur the perfumed flooered Muses' braw gifties, fur the clear tunefu lyre: Bit noo auld age has grippit ma saft corp, Noo ma hair is fite, an nae langer derk. Ma hairt's wechty, ma shanks winna support me, That aince wir faist as fawns, in the daunce. I aften murn fur ma state; fit can I dae? Bein human, there's nae wye nae tae growe auld. Rosy-airmed Day-brakk, they say, luve-smittit, Aince cairried Tithonus aff tae the warld's eyn Braw an young he wis syne, yet at the hinnereyn Grey age catched thon spouse o an aybydan wife.