THEOCRITUS IN SCOTS
The Fishers
(Idyll xxi)
’Tis puirtith sooples heid and hand
And gars inventions fill the land;
And dreams come fast to folk that lie
Wi’ nocht atween them and the sky.
Twae collier lads frae near Lasswade,
Auld skeely fishers, fand their bed
Ae simmer’s nicht aside the shaw
Whaur Manor rins by Cademuir Law.
Dry flowe-moss made them pillows fine,
And, for a bield to kep the win’,
A muckle craig owerhung the burn,
A’ thacked wi’ blaeberry and fern.
Aside them lay their rods and reels,
Their flee-books and their auncient creels.
The pooches o’ their moleskin breeks
Contained unlawfu’ things like cleeks,
For folk that fish to fill their wame
Are no fasteedious at the game.
The twae aye took their jaunts thegither;
Geordie was ane and Tam the ither.
Their chaumer was the mune-bricht sky,
The siller stream their lullaby.
When knocks in touns were chappin’ three,
Tam woke and rubbed a blinkin’ ee.
It was the ’oor when troots are boun’
To gulp the May-flee floatin’ doun,
Afore the sun is in the glens
And dim are a’ the heughs and dens.
Tam
“Short is the simmer’s daurk, they say,
But this ane seemed as lang’s the day;
For siccan dreams as passed my sicht
I never saw in Januar’ nicht.
If some auld prophet chiel were here
I wad hae cürious things to speir.”
Geordie
“It’s conscience gars the nichtmares rin,
Sae, Tam my lad, what hae ye dune?”
Tam
“Nae ill; my saul is free frae blame,
Nor hae I wrocht ower hard my wame,
For last we fed, as ye maun awn,
On a sma’ troot and pease-meal scone.
But hear my dream, for aiblins you
May find a way to riddle’t true....
I thocht that I was castin’ steady
At the püle’s tail ayont the smiddy,
Wi’ finest gut and sma’est flee,
For the air was clear and the water wee;
When sudden wi’ a rowst and swish
I rase a maist enormous fish....
I struck and heuked the monster shüre,
Guidsakes! to see him loup in air!
It was nae saumon, na, nor troot;
To the last yaird my line gaed oot,
As up the stream the warlock ran
As wild as Job’s Leviathan.
I got him stopped below the linn,
Whaur verra near I tummled in,
Aye prayin’ hard my heuk wad haud;
And syne he turned a dorty jaud,
Sulkin’ far doun amang the stanes.
I tapped the butt to stir his banes.
He warsled here and plowtered there,
But still I held him ticht and fair,
The water rinnin’ oxter-hie,
The sweat aye drippin’ in my ee.
Sae bit by bit I wysed him richt
And broke his stieve and fashious micht,
Till sair fordone he cam to book
And walloped in a shallow crook.
I had nae gad, sae doun my wand
I flang and pinned him on the sand.
I claucht him in baith airms and peched
Ashore—he was a michty wecht;
Nor stopped till I had got him shüre
Amang the threshes on the muir.
Then, Geordie lad, my een I rowed
The beast was made o’ solid gowd!—
Sic ferlie as was never kenned,
A’ glitterin’ gowd frae end to end!
I lauched, I grat, my kep I flang,
I danced a sprig, I sang a sang.
And syne I wished that I micht dee
If wark again was touched by me....
Wi’ that I woke; nae fish was there—
Juist the burnside and empty muir.
Noo tell me honest, Geordie lad,
Think ye yon daftlike aith will haud?”
Geordie
“Tuts, Tam ye fule, the aith ye sware
Was like your fish, nae less, nae mair.
For dreams are nocht but simmer rouk,
And him that trusts them hunts the gowk....
It’s time we catched some fish o’ flesh
Or we will baith gang brekfastless.”
1916