BALTIC STREET
My dainty lass, lay you the blameUpon the richtfu’ heid;’Twas daft ill-luck that bigg’d yer hameThe wrang side o’ the Tweed.Ye hae yer tocher a’ complete,Ye’re bonnie as the rose,But I was born in Baltic Street,In Baltic Street, Montrose!Lang syne on mony a waefu’ nicht,Hie owre the sea’s distress,I’ve seen the great airms o’ the lichtSwing oot frae Scurdyness;An’ prood, in sunny simmer blinks,When land-winds rase an’ fell,I’d flee my draigon[13]on the linksWi’ callants like mysel’.Oh, Baltic Street is cauld an’ bareAn’ mebbe nae sae grand,But ye’ll feel the smell i’ the caller airO’ kippers on the land.’Twixt kirk an’ street the deid fowk bideTheir feet towards the sea,Ill nee’bours for a new-made bride,Gin ye come hame wi’ me.The steeple shades the kirkyaird grass,The seamen’s hidden banes,A dour-like kirk to an English lassWha kens but English lanes;And when the haar, the winter through,Creeps blind on close and wa’My hame micht get a curse frae you,Mysel’ get, mebbe, twa.I’ll up an’ aff the morn’s mornTo seek some reid-haired queyn,Bauld-he’rted, strang-nieved,[14]bred an’ bornIn this auld toon o’ mine.And oh! for mair I winna greet,Gin we hae meal an’ broseAnd a but an’ ben in Baltic Street,In Baltic Street, Montrose!
FOOTNOTES:[13]Fly my kite.[14]Strong-fisted.
[13]Fly my kite.
[13]Fly my kite.
[14]Strong-fisted.
[14]Strong-fisted.