Some poetry -  not just for Burns Night

We have two poets of Scotland that are close to our hearts. One is a local lad the other from Ayr rightly well known. To give you a taste we have given a short introduction and two poems of David Scot along with a letter from Burns to Mrs M’Lehose and his famous love poem to her. Robert Burns called himself Sylvander and Mrs M’lehose Clarinda

David Scott.

A miner born 1864 in Cowdenfoot village. At the age of nine the family moved to Newtongrange where he attended the Colliery school until reaching all of thirteen then to be placed as a pit worker for the Marquis of Lothian.

David Scott was regarded as a natural and unsophisticated poet of thoughtful mind.

It can be seen from his verses he loved the outdoors and nature so far from the light of a miner lamp.
Dinna Herm The Birdies.

Oh, dinna herm the bonnie birds,
Come, cast thae stanes awa’, lads;
This is their warld as weel as yours;
The Faither made us a’, lads.
Oh, laddies, tak advice frae eild,
 For true you’ll find my word is -
There’s sad reflection in the deed,
Sae, dinna herm the birdies.
Hear to the lav’rock in the lift,
Hoo bonnilie ’tis singin’,
An’  list the gush o’ music that
Frae oot the glen is ringin’ ;
Sic’ strains micht peer an angel’s sang,
E’en tho’ in heaven it heard is -
Then laddies cast thae stanes awa’,
An’ herm nae bonnie birdies.

The Foggies. ( The Bees).

O for a sunny day in spring
Among the scented clovers!
When Nature’s aerial fleet takes wing-
The busy meadow rovers.
The butterfly’s a dainty queen,
The wasp a stinging rogue is;
For me a day on flowery green
To chase the roving foggies.
A Song of the Mine.

Amid the cold of the winter morn
The brave lads usher forth;
The twinklin’ stars gleam red o’erhead,
And a blast blows from the north.
They know no danger of heart or hand,
As the black earth closes o’er them;
But think of the loved ones left behind,
And the work that lies before them.

Robert Burns.

Robert Burns was born on the 25th January 1759 about two miles south of Ayr near Alloway Kirk and the Bridge of Doon.

His father who spelt his name Burnes seemed to have some favour to the Jacobites during the rebellion. Robert himself carried a vague hint of the same preference.

As a young farmer it was said, he mixed well and freely in country side society in an independent fashion.

Burns was later employed as an Exciseman who got himself in trouble for sending a letter to the French Convention along with four carronades.  He was a man of wit, verse and love.

A letter and poem giving some insight to this great man.
To Clarinda.
You talk of weeping, Clarinda : some involuntary drops wet your lines as I read them. Offend me, my dearest angel! 

You cannot offend me - you never offended me. If you had ever given me the least shadow of offence, so pardon me, my God, as I forgive Clarinda. I have read yours again; it has blotted my paper.

Though I find your letter has agitated me into a violent headache, I shall take a chair and be with you about eight.

A friend is to be with us at tea, on my account, which hinders me from coming sooner. Forgive, my dearest Clarinda, my unguarded expressions.

For Heaven’s sake, forgive me, or I shall never be able to bear my own mind.

Your unhappy


Clarinda, mistress of my soul,
The measur’d time is run!
The wretch beneath the dreary pole
So marks his latest sun.

To what dark cave of frozen night
Shall poor Sylvander hie;
Depriv’d of thee, his life and light,
The sun of all his joy?

We part - but by these precious drops
That fill thy lovely eyes!
No other light shall guide my steps
Till thy bright beams arise.

Our own Eddie McCarthy is the Senior Scottish remaining One o’clock Gunner.This slender effort is dedicated to him.
Photograph of Senior One o'Clock Gunner Eddie McCarthy
The One O’clock Time Gun and Gunner.

Yon great toon o the rock
Wi roughish blooter shock
Honours the oors o the clock
At yin snell the gun retorts
Around the toon a carfuffle stoits
 Its yin a couthie fowk say (a is for all)
And mark the noble time o day
When others gently dander
The pernickety jump wi fright
As doos breenge to flight
The blast sublime we a share
Wi pride oor lugs listen fair
And monie wid like some mair
The Gunner weel kens the time
For fire side humble and tot sublime

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