Freedom For Scotland
Scotland's ma Hame
David Wingate
( The Collier Poet)
Dalziel In Winter
         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.
Dalziel In Winter
John Frost
January 25th 1888
The Collier's Ragged Wean
Annie Weir
A  Miner's Morning Song
The Quarter Folk's Fair
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