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Jock, To The First Army

O Rab an' Dave an' rantin' Jim,
The geans were turnin' reid
When Scotland saw yer line grow dim,
Wi' the pipers at its heid;
Noo, i' yon warld we dinna ken,
Like strangers ye maun gang -
"We've sic a waleo' Angus men
That we canna weary lang."

An' little Wat - my brither Wat -
Man, are ye aye the same?
Or is yon sma' white hoose forgot
Doon by the strath at hame?
An' div' ye mind foo aft we trod
The Isla's banks before? -
- "My place is wi' the Hosts o' God,
But I mind me o' Strathmore."

It's daith comes skirling through the sky,
Below there's naucht but pain,
We canna see whaur deid men lie
For the drivin' o' the rain;
Ye a' hae passed frae fear an' doot.
Ye're far frae airthly ill -
- "We're near, we're here, my wee recruit,
An' we fecht for Scotland still."
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Submitted on August 03, 2020

Modified on March 05, 2023

49 sec read

Quick analysis:

Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 753
Words 162
Stanzas 3
Stanza Lengths 8, 8, 8

Violet Jacob

Violet Jacob (1 September 1863 – 9 September 1946) was a Scottish writer, now known especially for her historical novel Flemington and for her poetry, mainly in Scots. more…

All Violet Jacob poems | Violet Jacob Books

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