LL-L: "Poetics" [S] LOWLANDS-L, 25.SEP.1999 (02)

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From: Sandy Fleming [sandy at fleimin.demon.co.uk]
Subject: "Poetics"

> From: Lee [glent at troi.csw.net]
> Subject: LL-L: "Poetics" [E/S] LOWLANDS-L, 24.SEP.1999 (03)

> Don't laugh too hard Sandy! (smiles)

Whae, me? Hou wad A dae that?  :)

> had to back out improperly so I lost all because I didn't save it!  Was a
> bummer!  I found my old drafts and put them in so that's why the poems are

A'm gled tae hear they'r auld screives wi hou A'v aareddy telt ye that
"traivelt" is wrang at ae pynt here!

Onywey, ye says ye want them redd up? Nae bather!

Bonnie Bonnie Lyndee
A sang o the tyme o fiftein hunner an sax  "in Scots"

Bonnie, bonnie Lyndee, the fairest i the toun.
wi lips rid lyke roses an een clair an broun.
She turnt ti me an smiled as we traivelt alang the wey,
"Ma hert is yours fur ever an ma luve is yours aye."

A met er ae braw earlie morn, whan the glen wis emerant green,
the heather strinklt here an therr, made a purple gleam.
She convoyed me ti er blithe steid, whaur the mist an loch dae meit,
An therr we talked an laucht fur ours, an than A kyssed er cheek.

Ware birlt ti simmer, an simmer birlt ti hairst,
A speirt er haun i merridge an she spak "Ay, ma Taus.
Cause tis ye that maks me fain fur aa the things at lyfe can gie."
An she laid er sweet heed on ma kist, syne A saftlie said.

Bonnie, bonnie Lyndee, the fairest i the toun.
Wi lips rid lyke roses an een clair an broun.
She leukit ti me an smiled as ma lips did titch er cheek,
"Ma hert is yours fur ever an ma luve is yours ti keep."

The sails billowed strang the day A gaed ti sea.
An ma bonnie, bonnie Lyndee, wis waitin hame fur me.
She kent A'd be lanelie, sae she said a prayer thon nicht.
"Lord dae keep im safe frae skaith, A luve im wi aa ma micht."

The Day dawed bricht an clair, it wis the Sawbath morn.
Ma bonnie, bonnie Lyndee, wis dowf an sae forlorn.
Fur she kent A wisna cummin back ti be wi er agane.
Sae she traivelt ti the misty loch an therr she saftlie spak.

"Ma bonnie, bonnie Laddie, wi oot ye A hae nae will,
gin A cud see ye aince mair, A ken ma hert wud heal."
As er een leukit till the misty loch, the rives ran doun er cheek.
"Me bonnie, bonnie Laddie, wi ye A fur aye sall be.

Bonnie, bonnie Lyndee, the fairest i the toun.
Wi lips rid lyke roses an een clair an broun.
She traivelt alang the loch that day an never wis seen agane.
Nou ma bonnie bonnie Lyndee is wi me aince agane.

Scrieven bi the haun o Douglas Lee Swicegood, November,  nynetein hunner an
nynetie echt.


Wee Rose

Doun the road, whaur the muckle aik growes,
therr bade a young lass wis caa'd wee Rose.

She pass't bi ma mither's hoose the back o three,
fur tae the toun she maun swippert gae.

Wee Rose, wee Rose, a guid wee lassie,
awa tae the toun fur ti git neeps an tatties.
Fur her mither's neeps an tatties wis nae guid that yeir.
Sae she spent a wee bit an brocht hame guid cheer.

For the nicht wis the Ceilidh an fowk roond aboot,
wad cum ti the Ceilidh fur ti eat, sing, an hooch.
The Haggis an clapshot "guid indeed!"
Syne me an wee Rose danced a wee jig.

Efter the Ceilidh, wee Rose spak guid nicht.
But A haud her sweet haun, siccar, no ticht.
Syne A kyssed her brou i the pale muinlicht.
Syne she laucht, turnt awa, an wis suin oot o sicht.

A wis i luve wi wee Rose that yeir.
But, she luved anither, muckle mair, A fear.
Sae A gied her awa, didna marrie, no me.
Fur me luve fur wee Rose wis deep luve indeed.

Wee Rose, wee Rose, a guid wee lassie,
awa ti the toun fur ti git neeps an tatties.
A winna be dowie, fur a luved, ay, A did.
Wee Rose, wee Rose, i ma hert, ye wull live.

Scrieven bi the haun o Douglas Lee Swicegood, November,  nynetein hunner an
nynetie echt.

Sandy
http://scotstext.org

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