My Ain Native Toun
By David Herbison
Since I was a boy in my ain native toun,
There鈥檚 naething but bigging and pu鈥檌ng wa鈥檚 doun;
The streets are grown wider, the houses are high,
And half o鈥 their windows peer into the sky;
Their doors wad let in ony cart frae the street,
Their owners ne鈥檈r think o鈥 a shoe for their feet,
They a鈥 maun hae boots ere they venture abroad;
Their claething appears to an auld body odd;
How changed frae the times when our forefathers lay
In houses weel streekit wi heather and strae!
Happy hames, happy hearts, we had ilka place roun鈥,
Whan I was a boy in my ain native toun.
Whan wandering wi鈥 ither sculeboys to the scule,
Wi鈥 piece in my pocket, my satchel and rule,
Nae pride was amang us, nae boastin鈥 o鈥 gear,
We shared wi鈥 ilk ither the apple and pear;
We ran at the ring, and we play鈥檇 at the ba鈥,
And parted in peace by the auld castle wa鈥;
We then helped the poor, as we always should do,
In pleasure to wander life鈥檚 weary way through;
But times now are changed 鈥 the poor鈥檚 no鈥 helped ava,
They鈥檙e looked on by rich folk as nae folk at a鈥!
Ambition and folly wad imp at the croun,
Since I was a boy in my ain native toun.
The auld clock is gane wi鈥 its time-honoured face,
And oh, what a queer thing appears in its place!
It aften strike鈥檚 twal, whan it shudna strike twa 鈥
I wish frae my heart the daft thing was awa!
Its belfry hangs out as if poor folk to mock,
The least blast o鈥 win鈥 maks the tiny thing rock;
Wha鈥 doubts o鈥 its height an鈥 its hame in the sky 鈥
But oh, what a change to an auld neighbour鈥檚 eye:
Tis like a鈥 things else that hae twa faces got,
Unstable and no鈥 to be trusted for aught:
Deceit and deception fill ilka place roun鈥,
Since I was a boy in my ain native toun.
The castle is gane, and its garden destroyed,
Nae langer about it our Easter鈥檚 enjoyed;
Its banks and its braes are a鈥 weedy and fogg鈥檇,
And felled is the tree whare the sodger was flogg鈥檇:
There鈥檚 naething I see has the same hue it had
Whan I was a boy in the arms o鈥 my dad,
Except the wee house whare the poet was born,
It still braves the blast o鈥 the wild wintry morn,
Was鈥檛 no鈥 for it now, as I saunter alang,
I wad scarce know the place whare I first sung my sang;
Its chimneys and windows and scraw-covered crown
Are a鈥 that I see o鈥 my auld native toun.
I aft look and wonder what folk wad be at,
That scamper about 鈥榥eath a fairy-formed hat;
They winna sit down as our forefathers sat,
On cauld flags o鈥 whinstane to hae a while鈥檚 chat,
Their seats maun be cushioned, or sit they鈥檒l not sit,
At them I aft laugh till my sides like to split;
Nae milking, or baking, amang their wives noo,
Nor knitting, nor spinning, nor carding o鈥 woo鈥;
In pride they ride out in their cars and their coaches,
As brilliant as stars, wi鈥 gold bracelets and brooches,
Cloak, apron, or hood, or a short-bodied goun,
Wad now be disowned in my ain native toun.
Our widows and maidens now daily appear
In dress only fit for the male sex to wear 鈥
Shawls, bonnets, and caps are cast off in disgust,
As things insufficient to show off the bust.
Broad hats and white feathers their heads must adorn,
Or better, they say, they had never been born;
What shame 鈥榯is to see them now walking the street,
With plumes on their heads, gutt-pe鈥檆ks to their feet;
Ilk thing that鈥檚 about them shows plainly to a鈥
That鈥檚 modesty鈥檚 fled frae them far, far awa鈥!
Nae wonder they wander in vain up and doun,
Men to find to their mind in my ain native toun.
O Woman! thy beauty has aft charmed my eye,
When dark o鈥檈r my path scowl鈥檇 the wild wintry sky,
Ere pride led you off from the soul-cheering ways,
How blest have I been singing sons in thy praise, -
And still you could cheer me and charm me along,
And wake in my bosom the spirit of song;
But not while you wander so like a buffoon,
Laugh鈥檇 and mock鈥檇 at by a鈥 the auld folk in the toun;
Cast the hoop from thy frock and the beads frae thy hair,
And modestly kneel where the good go to prayer,
And my auld harp again will thy praises send roun鈥
The streets, lanes, and squares o鈥 my ain native toun.
What splendid big houses, what beautiful banks,
Whase inmates get rich wi鈥 nae toil to their shanks;
Bank notes o鈥 a鈥 sizes and siller are there,
By which they contrive to mak鈥 muckle 鈥 aye mair;
Whan offer鈥檇 a sovereign they鈥檒l prove it to be
Light, light in the scale and a shade oure wee,
But gang back again for a sovereign to them,
They鈥檒l gie you, they say, what nae man wad condemn,
Although they are sure 鈥榯is the very same ane,
They gained the grot by ere frae you it was ta鈥檈n;
Sic wark canna stan鈥, it maun fade awa soon,
Or sad times we鈥檒l hae in my ain native toun.
When we had laigh houses, laigh windows, and doors,
Our shaps werna filled up wi鈥 shapboys in scores;
Our weights were a鈥 honest, our measures were just,
And faithfu鈥 and firmfu鈥 we stood by our trust;
A鈥 things that we bought were aye paid on the spot,
In selling, our conscience was never forgot;
And a鈥 times o鈥 night for our hames we could turn,
Nor find aught to injure or cause us to mourn;
In thought, word, or deed, we ne鈥檈r gave an abuse,
Our claithing was plain and esteemed for its use;
The heart that wad dupe was despised up and doun,
When I was a boy in my ain native toun.
Although I鈥檓 grown auld, and my hair is turned grey,
I fear lest their folly might lead me astray;
But I鈥檒l do the best, as I ever hae done,
To run the same path that my forefathers run;
Guile ne鈥檈r was amang them, deception nor strife,
Their boast 鈥 only boast 鈥 was a pure happy life;
For difference o鈥 birth, they ne鈥檈r quarrel鈥檇 ava.
They pray鈥檇 to ae God, and in peace pass鈥檇 awa;
Methinks now I hear them in dreams cry 鈥渂eware,鈥
鈥淧ride never shall enter the high house o鈥 prayer;鈥
What gewgaws and fashions are sought up and doun,
Since I was a boy in my ain native toun.
We then had nae drapers the poor to oppress;
We wove our ain wab and we drank our ain glass,
And aye had shilling to spend or to spare,
The heart to mak鈥 glad that seemed weary wi鈥 care;
Contented we were when we had in our bag
A very fine score, or a six hundred rag;
Our sweethearts aye met us wi鈥 joy in their face,
Mirth reigned in their pride, and made happy ilk place;
Our coats were hame spun, and our sarks were the same,
And warmly we welcomed a frien鈥 whan he came;
Our rent was aye paid whan the rent day came roun鈥
When I was a boy in my ain native toun.
Until we ceased selling our claith in the hall,
Nae want was amang us our peace to enthrall,
For a鈥 kind o鈥 wark we had plenty o鈥 cash,
And merchants that ne鈥檈r cut a bit o鈥 a dash;
They were perfectly honest, kind, friendly, and true,
And knew weel the wark they cam鈥 weekly to do;
The house-money never went into their fabs,
It went to the house that took care o鈥 our wabs!
And wad it still go for the use it did then,
The weaver wad pay鈥檛 like a dash o鈥 his pen;
But, oh, what a change on a鈥 things has cam鈥 roun鈥
Since I was a boy in my ain native toun.
When we could get a鈥 things we lik猫d to buy,
Without wandering up amang horses and kye;
Pears, apples, and nits aft induced us to eat,
As blithely we strayed through the clean-scraped street;
But now, cart, nor car, nor a fruit-covered stall
Appear in the causeway, or hang at the wall;
Contentment and pleasure are banished awa,
Want raves through the street like a bird through the snaw,
Care rings frae our bosom the sorrow-fraught tear,
And summer appears like the wane o鈥 the year;
The star of our freedom has sunk lowly doun
Since I was a boy in my ain native toun.
Whan rain fa鈥檚 in torrents, and win鈥檚 whistle shrill,
For apple or pear wha wad gang to the hill;
The fruit there may rot, and the stallwoman froun,
And curse them that drove them afar from the toun!
In vain they look out for a merchant to buy,
Their stalls are upset amang horses and kye,
The packman is sad, and the broguemakers rail,
And few lend an ear to the auctioneer鈥檚 tale;
Our markets are spoiled every place, it appears,
And young hearts are seared with oppression and fears;
The changes that鈥檚 made makes me sing a sad tune
Since I was a boy in my ain native toun.
鈥楾was heartsome to see on a Saturday morn,
Before the red clouds o鈥 their tassels were shorn,
Our blithe bonnie lasses come into the toun,
A鈥 tidy and braw in their hame-woven goun;
And heartsome to see the big bunch in their arms,
Of which they were proud as they were o鈥 their charms;
And while it was praised, paid, and carried awa,
Their smiles and their glances enlivened us a鈥;
What courting and talking in love we enjoyed
Whan a鈥 at thw heel and the reel were employed,
Our hearthstanes were cozie, the sang was sang roun鈥,
When I was a boy in my ain native toun.
Oh had I the power the past to restore,
The reel wad still crack, and the spinning-wheel snore,
Mill-yarn wad sink doun as it never had been,
Trade flourish as fair as it ever was seen;
Distress and oppression flee far frae our view,
Our hamlets rejoice and their beauties renew;
The profligate band that brought want to our door
Should labour or starve on a far foreign shore;
A wab in a steamloom should never appear,
Our country to steep in affliction and fear;
Peace, pleasure, and plenty, and happy hearts roun鈥,
And times wad revive in my ain native toun.
A鈥 things now aboot us appear for the worse,
Our feedin鈥 and cleedin鈥 is no鈥 worth a curse!
We鈥檙e now in the hands that our spirits hae crushed 鈥
To a鈥 kind o鈥 hardships were driven and pushed;
On fears, tears, and sighs aft our supper is made,
Since we were deprived the fair fruits o鈥 our trade;
Black, gloomy, and sad is the prospect in view 鈥
Oppression and want is our torture and screw;
Could we do as we did in the years that鈥檚 awa鈥,
Full many a rotten trunk roun鈥 us would fa鈥;
Auld trade and auld times wad mak鈥 happy hearts roun鈥,
And a鈥 wad rejoice in my ain native toun.
The men we hae got to preside o鈥檈r the law
Know little or naething aboot it ava;
They ne鈥檈r hae read Blackston nor Coke on a case,
And yet they are thought very fit for the place,
And nae doot they are in a wee toun like this,
Whare rich folk can say or dae naething amiss;
They hae made us a鈥 fools, aye and fools we will be,
As long as we鈥檙e no independent and free;
Nae bending nor crouching when I was in youth,
A鈥 men were thought equal that stood by the truth;
Vain proud empty fellows were never thought soun鈥
Whan I was a boy in my ain native toun.
If twa honest neighbours noo chance to dispute,
It canna be ended without a law suit!
But ere half aboot it is settled and paid,
They find by their folly what fools they are made!
The lawyers will pocket their cash wi鈥 a smile,
And laugh in their sleeve how they did them beguile!
What peace we wad hae if their number were less 鈥
Their name is enough godly folk to distress;
For fraud and deceit they outrival the Jew,
The devil himsel鈥 couldna鈥 match sic a crew!
For want o鈥 the power their pride to pu鈥 doun,
They fatten and feed in my ain native toun.
How wae is the spectacle comes in our view,
When ony unfortunate creature gets fu鈥,
He鈥檚 hauled to the bridewell and closed in a cell,
When a鈥 things around him are darker than hell;
Nae care for his comfort, nae care for his life,
Nae pity is shown for his weans or his wife;
His sighs and his sabs are unheard by the crew,
Wha鈥檚 look wad make Satan turn fearfully blue!
Meat, drink, nor a blanket he never sees there,
Benevolence flees frae the place in despair;
There tyranny reigns wi鈥 hyena-like froun,
Since I was a boy in my ain native toun.
Could our forefathers rise frae the grave whaur they lie
And see the steam-engine at speed passing by,
They surely wad say that the foul fiend himsel鈥
Was stealing awa鈥 the big bellows o鈥 hell;
Or could they be here on a wild wintry night,
Whan Luna is wrapped in her shroud frae our sight,
And see the gas light in its glory burst out,
Dispelling the danger o鈥 darkness and doubt,
Again they wad say owercome wi鈥 surprise,
That we had brought doun a鈥 the stars frae the skies,
And closed them in lanterns to scatter light roun鈥
The streets and the lanes o鈥 my ain native toun.
Yon big naked house standing out on the moor,
Is filled up with poor folk a鈥檓aist to the door;
They鈥檙e kept there, and fed there, as fowls we wad feed,
And buried 鈥 half buried 鈥 before they鈥檙e cauld deed!
Nae luck we ha鈥檈 had since it showed its face there,
Our craps were a鈥 blighted despite o鈥 our prayer;
鈥楾is a curse to the land, and a curse to the poor,
Wha still were content wi鈥 the bit at our door;
Wad some friendly blast blaw it far o鈥檈r the plain,
We a鈥 wad rejoice and be happy again;
Our taxes wad fa鈥, and the glass sparkle roun鈥,
And auld times return to my ain native toun;
I鈥檝e seen in my wanderings through life鈥檚 weary ways
Things almost as odd as if haws wad turn slaes;
And yet I may see ere my last breath I draw,
Gewgaws and new fashions sink shamefu鈥 awa鈥;
The scenes o鈥 my youth in their beauty arise,
Where a鈥 my affection and sympathy lies;
Sweet hame o鈥 my childhood! thy daughters appear
As fair as the stars that enliven our sphere!
Their virtue has lang been a blessing to thee,
And dearer than life they hae aye been to me:
And dear they will be till my banes are laid doun
In the auld hallowed yard o鈥 my ain native toun.
