The Field By The Lirk O' The Hill

    Daytime an' nicht,
        Sun, wind an' rain;
    The lang, cauld licht
        O' the spring months again.
    The yaird's a' weed,
        An' the fairm's a' still -
    Wha'll sow the seed
I' the field by the lirk o' the hill?

    Prood maun ye lie,
        Prood did ye gang;
    Auld, auld am I,
        But O! life's lang!
    Gaists i' the air,
        Whaups cryin' shrill,
    An' you nae mair
I' the field by the lirk o' the hill -
    Aye, bairn, nae mair, nae mair,
I' the field by the lirk o' the hill!

Violet Jacob

Violet Jacob was a Scottish writer celebrated for her poetry and historical novels. Writing in both English and Scots, she is best known for her collection of poems 'Songs of Angus' published in 1915. Jacob's work captures the essence of rural Scotland and its people, with a strong emphasis on local dialects and traditions. In addition to her poetry, she also wrote several novels, short stories, and a memoir. Her legacy remains significant in Scottish literature.

Violet Jacob

The Shepherd To His Love

Violet Jacob, Simple Poetry

The Scarlet Lilies

Violet Jacob, Simple Poetry

The Lost Licht (A Perthshire Legend)

Violet Jacob, Simple Poetry

Prison

Violet Jacob, Simple Poetry

English

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The Doo'ucot Up The Braes

Beside the doo'cot up the braes
    The fields slope doon frae me,
An fine's the glint on blawin' days
    O' the bonnie plains o' sea.

Below's my mither's hoosie sma',
    The smiddy by the byre
Whaur aye my feyther dings awa'
    And my brither blaws the fire.

For Lachlan lo'es the smiddy's reek,
    An' Geordie's but a fule
Wha' drives the plough his breid to seek,
    And Rob's to teach the schule;

He'll haver roond the schulehoose wa's,
    And ring the schulehoose bell,
He'll skelp the scholars wi' the tawse
    (I'd like that fine mysel'!)

They're easy pleased, my brithers three -
    I hate the smiddy's lowe,
A weary dominie I'd be,
    An' I canna thole the plough.

But by the doo'cot up the braes
...

Violet Jacob

The Howe O' The Mearns

Laddie, my lad, when ye gang at the tail o' the plough
    An' the days draw in,
When the burnin' yellow's awa' that was aince a-lowe
    On the braes o' whin,
Do ye mind o' me that's deaved wi' the wearyfu' south
    An' it's puir concairns
While the weepies fade on the knowes at the river's mouth
    In the Howe o' the Mearns?

There was nae twa lads frae the Grampians doon to the Tay
    That could best us twa;
At bothie or dance, or the field on a fitba' day,
    We could sort them a';
An' at courtin'-time when the stars keeked doon on the glen
    An' its theek o' fairns,
It was you an' me got the pick o' the basket then
    In the Howe o' the Mearns.

London is fine, an' for ilk o' the lasses at hame
    There'll be saxty here,
But th...

Violet Jacob

The Whustlin' Lad

There's a wind comes doon frae the braes when the licht is spreadin'
    Chilly an' grey,
An' the auld cock craws at the yett o' the muirland steadin'
    Cryin' on day;
The hoose lies sound an' the sma' mune's deein' an' weary
    Watchin' her lane,
The shadows creep by the dyke an' the time seems eerie,
But the lad i' the fields he is whustlin' cheery, cheery,
    'Yont i' the rain.

My mither stirs as she wauks wi' her twa een blinkin',
    Bedded she'll bide,
For foo can an auld wife ken what a lassie's thinkin'
    Close at her side?
Mither, lie still, for ye're needin' a rest fu' sairly,
    Weary an' worn,
Mither, I'll rise, an' ye ken I'll be warkin' fairly -
An' I dinna ken wha can be whustlin', whustlin', aerly,
    Lang or it's morn...

Violet Jacob

The Water-Hen

As I gae'd doon by the twa mill dams i' the mornin'
The water-hen cam' oot like a passin' wraith
And her voice cam' through the reeds wi' a sound of warnin',
        "Faith - keep faith!"
"Aye, bird, tho' ye see but ane ye may cry on baith!"

As I gae'd doon the field when the dew was lyin',
My ain love stood whaur the road an' the mill-lade met,
An it seemed to me that the rowin' wheel was cryin',
        "Forgi'e - forget,
An turn, man, turn, for ye ken that ye lo'e her yet!"

As I gae'd doon the road 'twas a weary meetin',
For the ill words said yest're'en they were aye the same,
And my het he'rt drouned the wheel wi' its heavy beatin'.
        "Lass, think shame,
It's no for me to speak, for it's you to blame!"

As I gae'd doon by the toon when t...

Violet Jacob

The Lang Road

Below the braes o' heather, and far alang the glen,
The road rins southward, southward, that grips the souls o' men,
That draws their fitsteps aye awa' frae hearth and frae fauld,
That pairts ilk freen' frae ither, and the young frae the auld.
And whiles I stand at mornin' and whiles I stand at nicht,
To see it through the gaisty gloom, gang slippin oot o sicht;
There's mony a lad will ne'er come back amang his ain to lie,
An' its lang, lang waitin' till the time gangs by.

An far ayont the bit o' sky that lies abune the hills,
There is the black toon standin' mid the roarin' o' the mills.
Whaur the reek frae mony engines hangs 'atween it and the sun
An the lives are weary, weary, that are just begun.
Doon yon lang road that winds awa' my ain three sons they went,
They ...

Violet Jacob

The Heid Horseman

O Alec, up at Soutar's fairm,
    You, that's sae licht o' he'rt,
I ken ye passin' by the tune
    Ye whustle i' the cairt;

I hear the rowin' o' the wheels,
    The clink o' haims an' chain,
And set abune yer stampin' team
    I see ye sit yer lane.

Ilk morn, agin' the kindlin' sky
    Yer liftit heid is black,
Ilk nicht I watch ye hameward ride
    Wi' the sunset at yer back.

For wark's yer meat and wark's yer play,
    Heid horseman tho' ye be,
Ye've ne'er a glance for wife nor maid,
    Ye tak nae tent o' me.

An' man, ye'll no suspec' the truth,
    Tho' weel I ken it's true,
There's mony ane that trails in silk
    Wha fain wad gang wi' you.

But I am just a serving lass,
    Wha toils to get her breid,...

Violet Jacob