The Tod

There's a tod aye blinkin' when the nicht comes doon,
Blinkin' wi' his lang een an' keekin' roond an' roon',
Creepin' by the fairmyaird when gloamin' is to fa',
And syne there'll be a chicken or a deuk awa' -
Aye, when the guidwife rises, there's a deuk awa'!

There's a lass sits greetin' ben the hoose at hame,
For when the guidwife's cankered she gie's her aye the blame,
An' sair the lassie's sabbin' an' fast the tears fa',
For the guidwife's tint her bonnie hen an' it's awa' -
Aye, she's no sae easy dealt wi' when her gear's awa'!

There's a lad aye roamin' when the day gets late,
A lang-leggit deevil wi' his hand upon the gate,
And aye the guidwife cries to him to gar the toddie fa',
For she canna thole to let her deuks an' hens awa' -
Aye, the muckle bubbly-jock himsel' is ca'd awa'!

The laddie saw the tod gang by an' killed him wi' a stane
And the bonnie lass that grat sae sair she sabs nae mair her lane,
But the guidwife's no contentit yet, her like ye never saw!
Cries she - "This time it is the lass, an' she's awa'!
Aye, yon laddie's waur nor ony tod, for Bell's awa'!"

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 Philosophy Of The Ditch

Violet Jacob, Simple Poetry

The Gowk

Violet Jacob, Simple Poetry

Unity

Violet Jacob, Simple Poetry

Tam I' The Kirk

Violet Jacob, Simple Poetry

English

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A Change O' Deils

"A change o' deils is lichtsome." -
Scots Proverb.


My Grannie spent a merry youth,
    She niver wantit for a joe,
An gin she tell't me aye the truth,
    Richt little was't she kent na o'.

An' whiles afore she gae'd awa'
    To bed her doon below the grass,
Says she, "Guidmen I've kistit^[1] twa,
    But a change o' deils is lichtsome, lass!"

Sae dinna think to maister me,
    For Scotland's fu' o' brawlike chiels,
And aiblins^[2] ither folk ye'll see
    Are fine an' pleased to change their deils.

Aye, set yer bonnet on yer heid,
    An' cock it up upon yer bree,
O' a' yer tricks ye'll hae some need
    Afore ye get the best o' me!

Sma' wark to fill yer place I'd hae,
    I'll seek...

Violet Jacob

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 Lad I' The Mune

I

O gin I lived i' the gowden mune
    Like the mannie that smiles at me,
I'd sit a' nicht in my hoose abune
An the wee-bit stars they wad ken me sune,
For I'd sup my brose wi' a gowden spune
    And they wad come out to see!

II

For weel I ken that the mune's his ain
    And he is the maister there;
A' nicht he's lauchin', for, fegs, there's nane
To draw the blind on his windy-pane
And tak' an' bed him, to lie his lane
    And pleasure himsel' nae mair.

III

Says I to Grannie, "Keek up the glen
    Abune by the rodden tree,
There's a braw lad 'yont i' the mune, ye ken."
Says she, "Awa' wi' ye, bairn, gang ben,
For noo it's little I fash wi' men
    An' it's less that they fash wi' me!"

IV

W...

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

Jeemsie Miller

There's some that mak' themsels a name
Wi' preachin', business, or a game,
There's some wi' drink hae gotten fame
    And some wi' siller:
I kent a man got glory cheap,
For nane frae him their een could keep,
Losh! he was shapit like a neep,
    Was Jeemsie Miller!

When he gaed drivin' doon the street
Wi' cairt an' sheltie, a' complete,
The plankie whaur he had his seat
    Was bent near double;
And gin yon wood had na been strang
It hadna held oor Jeemsie lang,
He had been landit wi' a bang,
    And there'd been trouble.

Ye could but mind, to see his face,
The reid mune glowerin' on the place,
Nae man had e'er sic muckle space
    To haud his bonnet:
An owre yon bonnet on his brow,
Set cockit up owre Jeemsie's pow,
Th...

Violet Jacob