Freedom For Scotland | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Scotland's ma Hame | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
David Wingate ( The Collier Poet) |
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Dalziel In Winter | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Home | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Dalziel in Winter What? Prepared abroad to stay? Where? On such a bitter day? Surely none a- field will roam Who may choose to stay at home, Where the coal that gleams and glows Is the fairest flower that blows. Fair, indeed! But come with me And we the fairer things shall see; Whether, on the highway, slow, With a wary step we go, Watching how the hedges glitter Where the sunbeams light the snow While the sparrows gaily twitter, And the want-emboldened crow Folds his shining wings,a meal From the miners door to steal. Or,the highway shunning, march Underneath the lime-tree arch, Past the pits and past the farm Smartly,till our cheeks grow warm. Through the woods and down the glen Slowly shall we wander, then- Slowly, feasting full our eyes With the forest's winter glory. We shall mark with sweet surprise How the yews seem doubly hoary, Now that their unrivalled green Is peeping tufts of snow between. Looking up,we charmed shall see How the sunshine gilds each tree- How each snow- bent branch seems now Fairer than a budded bough- How of shrubs that crown the height Every eastward curve is white, Every westward dark as night. Looking down,the burn well see, Struggling bravely to be free; Round the boulders rusing still, By the clustered icicle; And the ivy, swinging loose Tasselled with the frozen ooze, And shall question if the Spring Scenes so fairy-like will bring. Chiefly thus we'll question, when, Sudden towering o'er the glen, With its turrets robed in white, And its windows gleaming bright, Ans its curling smoke-wreaths, we Shall the ancient mansion see; When the scene that charms us seems Something seen in happy dreams. Here we haply linger long By the linn's ice-softened song; Backward now we will not gaze On the forests snowy maze, For the shouts that greet us still, Tell of mirth beyond the hill, Where,in games long famed in story, Youth and manhood strive for glory. Curl your lip? Nay, nay; no scorn; We are all to pleasure born, And what can you perceive in this But innocence and manliness? Stand and mark how fair the scene! See, the beechen truns between, Mimic ice-floes floating slow, Living in the sunset,s glow Each an instant ere they pass- Burning gems on flowing glass: Nothing puerile, mean, or tame, Here surrounds the ;roaring; game. On the brae's white blow we'll stand, As on a hill in fairyland, And watch the rivers golden glimmer, And the mimic ice-floe's shimmer As they pass the beeches go, Living in the sunset glow Each an instant, ere they pass, Ay, but not as in a glass, For the gleam, repeated, seems Bringing ever differing dreams- All such dreams as Nature brings you, With such songs as Nature sings you. |
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Dalziel In Winter | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
John Frost | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
January 25th 1888 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Agnes | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
The Collier's Ragged Wean | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Annie Weir | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
A Miner's Morning Song | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
The Quarter Folk's Fair | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||