|
“Tam
o’ Stirling”
- Frae
the land o’ brown heath and tartan plaids,
- Frae
the country o’cakes and barley bannocks,
- A
comely selection o’ chields and maids,
- On
board of the Symmetry swung their hammocks.
-
- The
emigrants all were a worthy crew,
- Frae
south and west whom none surpases,
- Where
braxy mutton and mountain dew,
- Rear
sturdy callants and strappin’ lasses.
-
- Farmers
and blacksmiths, prize ploughmen were there,
- Dairymaids
fresh as the butter they made,
- Guidwives
wi’ their weans, sae rosy and fair,
- And
the honest guidman wi’ his collie and spade.
-
- At
Scotia’s shores were receding behind them
- And
the Symmetry furrowed along through the foam,
- Each
felt that no poet required to remind the,
- That
ever so humble there is no place like home.
-
- And
the elders confessed, as each blew his nose,
- And
stealthily wiping a trickling tear,
- That
darling Auld Scotland wi’ skim milk an’ brose,
- Wad
beat Buenos Aires and five hundred a year.
-
- But
sailing along we got soon reconciled,
- As
daily some wonder enchanted our view,
- While
frolicsome chappies the evenings beguiled,
- Wi’
gruesome ghost stories they guaranteed true.
-
- At
length Biscay Bay, that dread o’ the sailor
- They
entered, and lo! Old Neptune was frowning,
- Huge
waves turned the cheeks of pluckiest paler,
- And
everyone thought ‘twas a matter of drowning.
-
- Three
days of tossing, sea-sick and forlorn,
- A
storm on the sea and a deil in their stomachs,
- The
emigrants wished they have never been born,
- Tae
be buffeted thus, and chucked frae their hammocks.
-
- Wrathful
surges becalmed, bright Phoebus appearing,
- And
storm tossed emigrants crawled up on deck,
- They
sang the ship’s praises, and lustily cheering,
- Brave
Cochrane the Captain wi’ deepest respect.
-
- They
assisted the crew wi’ a “Yoh heave Ho”
- They
played pitch and toss and primitive skittles,
- But
soon Symmeterians got wisely to know,
- That
at sea the finest diversion is victuals.
- For
sickness o’er and their appetites whetted,
- Puir
cookie was hunted frae aft to the fore
- Eating
was trumps, and the steward he fretted,
- That
famine would board them ere reaching the shore
-
- But
useless his fears, for a special tuck in,
- O’
crackers and junk soon settled the matter
- Twas
saltish nae doubt but cook said, wi’ a grin,
- That
the Symmetry carried abundance o’water.
-
- For
ploughmen accustomed to parritch and kail,
- Found
petrified biscuits dourish tae munch,
- While
ancient salt pork made their appetites fail,
- And
willingly tackle the pump for their lunch.
-
- They
wondered what people the Argentines were,
- Savage
or civilized colour, and figure,
- And
lassies resolved they would droon themselves ere,
- They’d
gang without claes or be kissed by a nigger.
-
- One
morning the emigrants arose wi’ delight,
- And
joy did prevail amongst the Symmetry’s crew
- As
the topman hailed deck, Montevideo in sight
- Though
nought could be seen but a thin streak o’ blue.
-
- Then
all was activity, bustle, commotion
- Of
premature packing and donning o’ braws
- Seemingly
having adopted the notion,
- Of
flying ashore wi’ the gulls and sea maws.
-
- For
leagues lay between them and Argentine’s shore
- And
days would still pass ere they anchored off there,
- But
each morning the colonists packed as before,
- And
nightly unbundled again in despair.
-
- Till
bowling along up the billowy Plate,
- The
Symmetry struck wi’ a shudder and clank,
- While
the pilot he swore ‘twas the trick’ry o’ fate
- Lured
the Britishers on to the “English Bank”
-
- Great
was the wailing on this sudden disaster,
- Tae
stick in midstream as they neared Buenos Aires,
- And
all save wee Tammy, the daft poetaster,
- Took
to reading their bibles and saying their prayers.
-
- At
length they got off and free from the danger,
- Heats
filled wi’ delight as they sighted the shore,
- Their
land of adoption, home of the stranger,
- From
where they would ne’er go to sea any more.
-
- The
Symmetry anchored, boats gathered around them,
- While
jabbering foreigners their luggage received,
- The
Babel o’ tongues was enough to confound them
- But
naebody understood Scotch, they perceived.
-
- Betimes
there started a coo’cairt procession,
- O’
colonists, implements, bedding and rations,
- Bound
for the South, where the Robertson concession,
- Awaited
to welcome the Scotch Immigration.
|
“Tam
o’ Stirling”
- Frae
the land o’ brown heath and tartan plaids,
- Frae
the country o’cakes and barley bannocks,
- A
comely selection o’ chields and maids,
- On
board of the Symmetry swung their hammocks.
-
- The
emigrants all were a worthy crew,
- Frae
south and west whom none surpases,
- Where
braxy mutton and mountain dew,
- Rear
sturdy callants and strappin’ lasses.
-
- Farmers
and blacksmiths, prize ploughmen were there,
- Dairymaids
fresh as the butter they made,
- Guidwives
wi’ their weans, sae rosy and fair,
- And
the honest guidman wi’ his collie and spade.
-
- At
Scotia’s shores were receding behind them
- And
the Symmetry furrowed along through the foam,
- Each
felt that no poet required to remind the,
- That
ever so humble there is no place like home.
-
- And
the elders confessed, as each blew his nose,
- And
stealthily wiping a trickling tear,
- That
darling Auld Scotland wi’ skim milk an’ brose,
- Wad
beat Buenos Aires and five hundred a year.
-
- But
sailing along we got soon reconciled,
- As
daily some wonder enchanted our view,
- While
frolicsome chappies the evenings beguiled,
- Wi’
gruesome ghost stories they guaranteed true.
-
- At
length Biscay Bay, that dread o’ the sailor
- They
entered, and lo! Old Neptune was frowning,
- Huge
waves turned the cheeks of pluckiest paler,
- And
everyone thought ‘twas a matter of drowning.
-
- Three
days of tossing, sea-sick and forlorn,
- A
storm on the sea and a deil in their stomachs,
- The
emigrants wished they have never been born,
- Tae
be buffeted thus, and chucked frae their hammocks.
-
- Wrathful
surges becalmed, bright Phoebus appearing,
- And
storm tossed emigrants crawled up on deck,
- They
sang the ship’s praises, and lustily cheering,
- Brave
Cochrane the Captain wi’ deepest respect.
-
- They
assisted the crew wi’ a “Yoh heave Ho”
- They
played pitch and toss and primitive skittles,
- But
soon Symmeterians got wisely to know,
- That
at sea the finest diversion is victuals.
- For
sickness o’er and their appetites whetted,
- Puir
cookie was hunted frae aft to the fore
- Eating
was trumps, and the steward he fretted,
- That
famine would board them ere reaching the shore
-
- But
useless his fears, for a special tuck in,
- O’
crackers and junk soon settled the matter
- Twas
saltish nae doubt but cook said, wi’ a grin,
- That
the Symmetry carried abundance o’water.
-
- For
ploughmen accustomed to parritch and kail,
- Found
petrified biscuits dourish tae munch,
- While
ancient salt pork made their appetites fail,
- And
willingly tackle the pump for their lunch.
-
- They
wondered what people the Argentines were,
- Savage
or civilized colour, and figure,
- And
lassies resolved they would droon themselves ere,
- They’d
gang without claes or be kissed by a nigger.
-
- One
morning the emigrants arose wi’ delight,
- And
joy did prevail amongst the Symmetry’s crew
- As
the topman hailed deck, Montevideo in sight
- Though
nought could be seen but a thin streak o’ blue.
-
- Then
all was activity, bustle, commotion
- Of
premature packing and donning o’ braws
- Seemingly
having adopted the notion,
- Of
flying ashore wi’ the gulls and sea maws.
-
- For
leagues lay between them and Argentine’s shore
- And
days would still pass ere they anchored off there,
- But
each morning the colonists packed as before,
- And
nightly unbundled again in despair.
-
- Till
bowling along up the billowy Plate,
- The
Symmetry struck wi’ a shudder and clank,
- While
the pilot he swore ‘twas the trick’ry o’ fate
- Lured
the Britishers on to the “English Bank”
-
- Great
was the wailing on this sudden disaster,
- Tae
stick in midstream as they neared Buenos Aires,
- And
all save wee Tammy, the daft poetaster,
- Took
to reading their bibles and saying their prayers.
-
- At
length they got off and free from the danger,
- Heats
filled wi’ delight as they sighted the shore,
- Their
land of adoption, home of the stranger,
- From
where they would ne’er go to sea any more.
-
- The
Symmetry anchored, boats gathered around them,
- While
jabbering foreigners their luggage received,
- The
Babel o’ tongues was enough to confound them
- But
naebody understood Scotch, they perceived.
-
- Betimes
there started a coo’cairt procession,
- O’
colonists, implements, bedding and rations,
- Bound
for the South, where the Robertson concession,
- Awaited
to welcome the Scotch Immigration.
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