A Wraith In The Mist. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)
On the green little isle of Inchkenneth,
Who is it that walks by the shore,
So gay with his Highland blue bonnet,
So brave with his targe and claymore?
His form is the form of a giant,
But his face wears an aspect of pain;
Can this be the Laird of Inchkenneth?
Can this be Sir Allan McLean?
Ah, no! It is only the Rambler,
The Idler, who lives in Bolt Court,
And who says, were he Laird of Inchkenneth,
He would wall himself round with a fort.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Highland Hospitality
Unto his housemaid spoke the Laird:
"Tonight the Bishop is our guest;
The spare room must be warmed and aired:
To please him we will do our best.
A worthy haggis you must make,
And serve a bowl of barley bree;
We must be hearty for the sake
Of Highland Hospitality.
The feast was set, the candles lit,
The Bishop came with modest mien,
And (one surmised) was glad to sit
And sup in this ancestral scene.
A noble haggis graced the board;
The Laird proposed a toast or two,
And ever and anon he poured
His guest a glass of Mountain Dew.
Then to his maid the Laird gave tongue:
"My sonsie Jean, my friend is old.
Comparatively you are young,
And not so sensitive to cold.
Poor chiel! His blood austerely beats,
Though it be sped by barley bree . . .
Slip half an hour between the sheets,
Brave lass, and warm his bed a wee.
Said she: "I'll do the best I can
So that his couch may cosy be,
And as a human warming pan
Prove Highland Hospitality."
So hearing sounds of mild carouse,
As in the down she pillowed deep:
"In half an hour I will arouse,"
She vowed, then soundly went to sleep.
So when the morn was amber-orbed
The Bishop from a dream awoke,
And as his parritch he absorbed,
Unto his host he slyly spoke:
"Your haggis, Laird, was nobly bred,
And braw your brew of barley bree -
But oh your thought to warm the bed!
That's Highland Hospitality.
poem by Robert William Service
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The laird may be laird and need his hind's help.
Blue Wall / Green Wall
What comes to my mind when I see a green wall?
A green wall reminds me of the grass so green
And the emerald most rarely seen
A green wall reminds me of the leaves so green
And a forest where I have never been
A green wall reminds me of trees with a lot of shade
And the fresh vegetables kept for trade.
What comes to my mind when I see a blue wall?
It reminds me of the sea so blue
I feel like jumping in it too
A blue wall reminds me of the blue sky
You can’t touch it cause it’s very high
A blue wall reminds me of the deep blue bear
It is very dangerous so beware
A blue wall reminds me of a blue whale
To reach it from the shore you have to sail.
poem by Risha Ahmed
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Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election - Ballad First
Whom will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a' that?
Or wha in a' the country round
The best deserves to fa' that?
For a' that, and a' that,
Thro' Galloway and a' that,
Where is the Laird or belted Knight
The best deserves to fa' that?
Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett,
(And wha is't never saw that?)
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met,
And has a doubt of a' that?
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent patriot,
The honest man, and a' that.
Tho' wit and worth, in either sex,
Saint Mary's Isle can shaw that,
Wi' Dukes and Lords let Selkirk mix,
And weel does Selkirk fa' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent commoner
Shall be the man for a' that.
But why should we to Nobles jouk,
And is't against the law, that?
For why, a Lord may be a gowk,
Wi' ribband, star and a' that,
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A Lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi' ribband, star and a' that.
A beardless boy comes o'er the hills,
Wi' uncle's purse and a' that;
But we'll hae ane frae mang oursels,
A man we ken, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
For we're not to be bought and sold,
Like naigs, and nowt, and a' that.
Then let us drink-The Stewartry,
Kerroughtree's laird, and a' that,
Our representative to be,
For weel he's worthy a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A House of Commons such as he,
They wad be blest that saw that.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Bonnet Of Blue
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
Its gossamer fineness I'll sing to you;
For a delicate fabric in sooth it was,
All trimmed and finified off with gauze.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
How well I remember thy azure hue!
To church I wore it, one pleasant day,
Bedecked in ribbons of fanciful ray;
And all the while I sat on my seat
I thought of naught save my bonnet so neat.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
Broke not my heart when I bade thee adieu?
When service was over, my steps I bent
Towards home, a-nodding my head as I went
But, alas for my bonnet! there came a wind
And blew it away, for the strings were not pinned.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
What shifting scenes have been thine to pass through!
I raised my eyes to the calm, blue sky,
There sailed my bonnet serene and high!
O, what a feeling of hopeless woe
Stole over me then, no heart may know!
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
As clear as the sky was thy azure hue!
'Twas vain to mourn for my bonnet, and yet
It taught me a lesson I shall not forget;
'Twas, never to make you an idol of clay,
For when you best love them they'll fly away.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
I loved thee well, but thou wert untrue!
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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The Turncoat
Set me out forewarned
While the heather glistened,
Tramped the starbright road
While my lady listened,
Soldiers at the doors,
Muskets at the casement,
All Kilmarnock groaned,
Milady in the basement.
There the road to Ayr
There the road to Dumfries
Torn by here or there
Mauchline; there lay Humphries:
‘Where’s the Laird o’ Fife? ’
Pikemen swarm all over,
All the red stained coats
By Portsmouth, and by Dover.
‘Take the road, ’ she said,
‘Take it, I’ll come after,
Find the Laird o’ Fife,
Lead us back to laughter,
Tell them Scotland’s sons
Have been led to slaughter,
Let them beat their drums
And save the old Laird’s daughter.’
On to Auckinleck
While the moon shines brightly
Cumnock came and went,
The horse drops dead beside me;
Sleep I by the light,
Tramp by wood and water
Lonely, night by night
For the old Laird’s daughter.
Eyes that gleamed like stars
Lips that would despair me,
Hands so soft and fair,
Heart that would not spare me
Sat at Marchburns stream
Met a man called Donald:
‘The army’s in some dream,
The Laird is at Kirconnel.’
One more night on foot
I found the army lying –
‘Where’s the Laird of Fife? ’
‘In grief, the Laird is dying! ’
Then I saw his head
Bowed and grey and broken,
‘A horseman brought the news,
And news has brought a token.’
He showed me where the brooch
Was stained with bitter blood there,
From where Milady lay
He’d took it from her throat there,
And there the clasp was broke
Just where the pike had thrust it,
Had entered at her throat
And there the blood had rust it.
Late, by Kirk and brae
These nights there, have I wandered,
Each eve I sit and pray
For love so basely squandered;
I have worn the red,
Lain long in the heather,
Sought Milady’s bed
And loved her as no other.
‘Take the road, ’ she said,
But I had long betrayed her,
Left her with the dead,
With Humphries men, dismayed her,
On some night as this
And where my love is lying
Death will come as bliss,
And red will stain my piping.
13 August 1996
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Daft Jean
Daft Jean,
The waesome wean,
She cam' by the cottage, she cam' by the ha',
The laird's ha' o' Wutherstanelaw,
The cottar's cot by the birken shaw;
An' aye she gret,
To ilk ane she met,
For the trumpet had blawn an' her lad was awa'.
'Black, black,' sang she,
'Black, black my weeds shall be,
My love has widowed me!
Black, black!' sang she.
Daft Jean,
The waesome wean,
She cam' by the cottage, she cam' by the ha',
The laird's ha' o' Wutherstanelaw,
The cottar's cot by the birken shaw;
Nae mair she creepit,
Nae mair she weepit,
She stept 'mang the lasses the queen o' them a',
The queen o' them a',
The queen o' them a',
She stept 'mang the lasses the queen o' them a'.
For the fight it was fought i' the fiel' far awa',
An' claymore in han' for his love an' his lan',
The lad she lo'ed best he was foremost to fa'.
'White, white,' sang she,
'White, white, my weeds shall be,
I am no widow,' sang she,
'White, white, my wedding shall be,
White, white!' sang she.
Daft Jean,
The waesome wean,
She gaed na' to cottage, she gaed na' to ha',
But forth she creepit,
While a' the house weepit,
Into the snaw i' the eerie night-fa'.
At morn we found her,
The lammies stood round her,
The snaw was her pillow, her sheet was the snaw;
Pale she was lying,
Singing and dying,
A' for the laddie wha fell far awa'.
'White, white,' sang she,
'My love has married me,
White, white, my weeds shall be,
White, white, my wedding shall be,
White, white,' sang she!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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The Laird Of Waristoun
Down by yon garden green,
Sae merrily as she gaes;
She has twa weel-made feet,
And she trips upon her taes.
She has twa weel-made feet;
Far better is her hand;
She's as jimp in the middle
As ony willow wand.
'Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be,
It's I will make you lady
Of a' the lands you see.'
* * * * *
He spak a word in jest;
Her answer was na good;
He threw a plate at her face,
Made it a' gush out o' blood.
She wasna frae her chamber
A step but barely three,
When up and at her richt hand
There stood Man's Enemy.
'Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be,
I'll learn you a wile,
Avenged for to be.'
The foul thief knotted the tether;
She lifted his head on hie;
The nourice drew the knot
That gar'd lord Waristoun die.
Then word is gane to Leith,
Also to Edinburgh town
That the lady had kill'd the laird,
The laird o' Waristoun.
* * * * *
Tak aff, tak aff my hood
But lat my petticoat be;
Pat my mantle o'er my head;
For the fire I downa see.
Now, a' ye gentle maids,
Tak warning now by me,
And never marry ane
But wha pleases your e'e.
'For he married me for love,
But I married him for fee;
And sae brak out the feud
That gar'd my dearie die.'
poem by Andrew Lang
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A National Song For Australia Felix
Dark over the face of Nature sublime!
Reign'd tyranny, warfare, and every crime;
The world a desert—no oasis green
A man-loving soul on its surface had seen;
Then mercy above a mandate sent forth
An Eden to form—a refuge for worth.
From the ocean it came, with halo so bright,
Want, strife, and oppression were lost in its sight.
Chorus
First isle of the sea—brightest gem of the earth
In thee every virtue and joy shall have birth.
A land of the just, the brave, and the free,
Australia the happy, thou ever shalt be.
So earth in the flood no place for rest gave,
At length a green isle arose from the wave;
The dove o'er the waters the olive branch bore,
To show that one spot was cover'd no more;
Australia thus shall be sounded by fame,
And Europe shall echo the glorious name;
The brave, wise, and good, wherever oppress'd,
Shall fly to thy shores as a haven of rest.
Chorus: First isle of the sea, &c.
Land of the orange, fig, olive, and vine;
'Midst earth's fairest daughters the chaplet is thine;
No sick'ning vapours are borne on thy air,
But fragrance and melody twine sweetly there;
Thy ever-green fields proclaim plenty and peace,
If man doth his part, heaven sends the increase;
No customs to fetter, no enemy near,
Independence thy sons for ever must cheer.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Save yourself frae the deil and the laird's bairns.
Blue For You
Sometimes the sun shines
And I close the blinds
cos I cant stand to see the light of day
I have no use for pain
But I dont mind the rain
cos I can stare outside and hear the sound
Today I looked right down to the ground
With nothing in between to break my fall
Im blue for you, blue for you
I dont know what to do
Chorus
Gotta form a plan of attack
Cant stop to look back I know
You are so far from here
Gotta be strong in my mind
Not encroach on your time I know that
That would be wrong for sure
I must get out and about
Of that I have no doubt
There surely must be new places to go
Sights Ive never seen
All with pastures green
cos the old ones are making me blue for you
cos Im blue for you, blue for you
I dont know what to do
And Im blue for you, blue for you
I dont know what to do
Gotta form a plan of attack
Climb back on the track I know
Bid my devil friend good-bye
Hope Im still in the race
But I dont know whaat to chase oh no
And youre still so far from here
The sun it still shines in
And I shall close the blinds
cos I know I wont see you anymore, see you anymore
And Im blue for you, blue for you
I dont know what to do
cos Im blue for you, blue for you
I dont know what to do
I dont know
I could take a big jump
song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hole In My Wall
Through the hole in my wall,
I see into your head
a beggers day banquet
on a four poster bed
It's food for the eyes
drink for the soul
The hole in my wall
I can't let myself go
CHOURS
I'm spinning 'round and 'round
('round and 'round and 'round)
Don't let me down
(Ooh I groove) Through the hole in my wall
(Love the view) Through the hole in my wall
(Velvet Blue) through the hole in my wall
(I see you) through the hole in my wall
The hole in my wall, lets in the sound
Of bodies and sweat, and merry-go-rounds
The whole in my wall, is better than sex
An x-rated Disneyland, gooving T-Rex
CHORUS (2 X's)
Through the hole in my wall.
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The War
There is a sound of thunder afar,
Storm in the south that darkens the day,
Storm of battle and thunder of war,
Well, if it do not roll our way.
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Be not deaf to the sound that warns!
Be not gull'd by a despot's plea!
Are figs of thistles or grapes of thorns?
How should a despot set men free?
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Let your Reforms for a moment go,
Look to your butts and make good aims.
Better a rotten borough or so,
Than a rotten fleet or a city of flames!
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Form, be ready to do or die!
Form in freedom's name and the Queen's!
True, that we have a faithful ally,
But only the devil knows what he means!
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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A Sparrow's Thoughts.... (Number Six)
you can send the lie in the form
of the unemployment check, in the
form of food stamps, in the form
of Medicaid, in the form of new
policies, in the form of charity...
but the truth is you dont give a damn
until you are willing to share all
you have with fairness, until you're
willing to put your shoulders to the
load, until you're willing to get
involved in the work of equality!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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How Gone Tomorrow!
How tomorrow is gone?
It is yet not done
It de dejected and pure pessimism
Even shame to humanism
If there is no light in life today
It can be fought for and made another day
Water can be taken out from hard stone
Even if all the hopes are gone
I hate to loose
Person has all the options to choose
Either you sit at home and do nothing
Then you can’t hope for something
Where from these sorrows and pain originate?
You don’t mention here how and made you to alienate
Life is worth taking all the chances
As it is given to human being only once
If your ship is not in order
You can't offer anything to others
Forget about love and affection
Your propriety may be suspicious with action
Life is meant to swim across
Whatever may be the setback or loss
Life is chance to lay a seize
If not then cry for whole life and miss
Nothing can be had then in any form
Even slight shock may cause a big storm
You may be pushed away with severe jolt
It may prove always as blue from bolt
Love and happiness only form part
When you have no fear to loose or part with
When it is in commanding position
You may form your own composition
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Goblin in the marsh
A Goblin staggers out of the marsh
and he is dirty and full of mud
and stinking he pasts
and walk in the fog
that rises from the water.
There are marsh gasses
that everywhere hangs rotting
and a lightning bolt
hitting to surface
Let’s balls of flame explode
blue, orange and red-blue
behind him
and he laughs half mad
while he walks away
through the mud.
Sniffing he searches
for waterweed, fester, bubonic plague,
arsenic and a snake’s
foaming poison
with the head of a rat
on a green body
and he waddles while he walks
and appears here and there
like a shadow.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fake Plastic Tree (acoustic Version)
A green plastic watering can
For a fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself
It wears her out, it wears her out
It wears her out, it wears her out
She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns
He used to do surgery
On girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins
And it wears him out, it wears him out
It wears him out, it wears him out
She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love
But I can't help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run
And it wears me out, it wears me out
It wears me out, it wears me out
And if I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted
All the time, all the time
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fake Plastic Trees
Her green plastic watering can
For her fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself.
It wears her out
It wears her out
It wears her out
It wears her out
She lives with a broken man,
A cracked polystyreneman
Who just crumbles and burns
He used to do surgery
For girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins.
And it wears him out
It wears him out
It wears him out
It wears...
She looks like the real thing.
She tastes like the real thing,
My fake plastic love
But I cant help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run.
And it wears me out
It wears me out
It wears me out
It wears me out
If I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted
All the time
All the time.
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stood its Ground
Reflecting on the loch at night
Its shadow cast by the moonlight
This castle stands upon the shore
Been here for three hundred years or more
If we could see the sights it seen
Not all was peaceful like a dream
Many have tried to take it down
But its still here it’s stood its ground
Romantic setting now its seems
A place for that magic wedding dream
Snow topped hills high above
It’s full of all that romantic stuff
But remember from whence it came
Its been through battles and been through pain
Its life will never be the same
A laird a lord a movie star
It does not matter who the owners are
You’re a castle and will always be
As your part of my Scottish history
Does not matter were I roam
Your part of that place I call home
08 10 2010
Chellaston
poem by Jim O'Donnell
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