r 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
There's nane frae me can steal
The blue sea an' the ocean haze
An' the ships I like sae weel.

The brigs ride oot past Ferryden
Ahint the girnin' tugs,
And the lasses wave to the Baltic men
Wi' the gowd rings i' their lugs.

My mither's sweir to let me gang.
My feyther gi'es me blame,
But youth is sair and life is lang
When yer he'rt's sae far frae hame.

But i' the doo'cot up the braes,
When a'tumn nichts are mirk,
I've hid my pennies an' my claes
An' the Buik I read at kirk,

An' come ae nicht when a' fowks sleep,
I'll lift them whaur they lie,
An' to the harbour-side I'll creep
I' the dim licht o' the sky;

An' when the eastern blink grows wide,
An' dark still smoors the west,
A Baltic brig will tak' the tide
Wi' a lad that canna rest!

LOGIE KIRK

O Logie Kirk amang the braes,
I'm thinkin' o' the merry days
Afore I trod thae weary ways
That led me far frae Logie!

Fine do I mind when I was young
Abune thy graves the mavis sung
An' ilka birdie had a tongue
To ca' me back to Logie.

O Logie Kirk, tho' aye the same
The burn sings ae remembered name,
There's ne'er a voice to cry "Come hame
To bonnie Bess at Logie!"

Far, far awa' the years decline
That took the lassie wha was mine
An' laid her sleepin' lang, lang syne
Amang the braes at Logie.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE DITCH

Aweel, I'm couped. But wha' could tell
The road wad rin sae sair?
I couldna gang yon pace mysel',
An' I winna try nae mair!

There's them wad coonsel me to stan',
But this is what I say:
_When Natur's forces fecht wi' man,_
_Dod, he maun just give way!_

If man's nae framed to lift his fit
Agin' a nat'ral law,
I winna' lift my heid, for it
Wad dae nae guid ava'.

Puir worms are we; the poo'pit rings
Ilk Sawbath wi' the same,
Gin airth's the place for sic-like things,
I'm no sae far frae hame!

Yon's guid plain raes'nin'; an' forby,
This pairis