O! welcome, lovely summer,
When the woods wi music ring,
And the bees so hevvy laden,
To their hives their treasures bring:
When we seek some shady bower,
Or some lovely little dell,
Or bivock in the sunshine,
Besides some cooling well.
O! welcome, lovely summer,
With her roses in full bloom;
When the cowslaps an’ the lalack
Deck the cottage home;
When the cherry an’ the berry,
Gives a grandeur to the charm;
And the clover and the haycock
Scent the little farm.
O! welcome, lovely summer,
With the partridge on the wing;
When tewit an the moorgame,
Up fra the heather spring,
From the crowber an the billber,
An the bracken an the ween;
As from the noisey tadpole,
We hear the crackin din.
O! welcome, lovely summer.
Burns’s 113th Birthday.
Go bring that tuther whisky in,
An put no watter to it;
Fer I mun drink a bumper off,
To Scotland’s darling poet.
Its a hunderd year an thirteen nah,
This Jenewary morn,
Sin in a lowly cot i’ Kyle,
A rustic bard wor born.
He kettled up his moorland harp,
To ivv’ry rustic scene;
An sung the ways o’ honest men,
His Davey and his Jean.
Their wor nivver a bonny flaar that grew,
Bud what he could admire;
Their wor nivver lovely hill or dale,
That suited not his lyre.
At last ould Coilia sade enuff,
My bardy tha did sing,
Then gently tuke his moorland harp,
And brack it ivvery string.
An’ bindin’ up the holly wreath,
We all its berries red,
Sho placed it on his noble brow,
An pensively sho said:—