Highland Mary-Robert Burns 1759-1756, Poem

              Ye banks, and braes, and streams around

                   The castle o' Montgomery,

             Green be your woods and fair your flowers,

                    Your waters never drumlie!

              There simmer first unfauld her robes,

                   And there the langest tarry;

           For there I took the last fareweel,

                   O' my sweet Highland Mary.

              How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,

                  How rich the hawthorn's blossom,

            As underneath their fragrant shade

                  I clasp'd her to my bosom!

           The golden hours, on angel wings,

                  Flew o'er me and my dearie;

            For dear to me as light and life,

                  Was my sweet Highland Mary.

            Wi' monie a vow and lock'd embrace

                  Our parting was fu' tender;

            And, pledging aft to meet again,

                  We tore oursels asunder;

            But O! fell death's untimely frost,

                  That nipt my flower sae early!

            Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,

               That wraps my Highland Mary!

            O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

                  I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!

            And closed for aye the sparkling glance,

                 That dwelt on me sae kindly!

          And mould'ring now in silent dust,

                  That heart that lo'ed me dearly!

            But still within my bosom's core

                  Shall live my Highland Mary.

Scots Wha Hae

             Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,

             Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;

              Welcome to your gory bed,

                   Or to victory!

              Now's the day, and now's the hour;

             See the front o' battle lour;

            See approach proud Edward's power--

                   Chains and slavery!

             Wha will be a traitor knave?

          Wha can fill a coward's grave!

            Wha sae base as be a slave?

                  Let him turn and flee!

            Wha for Scotland's king and law

            Freedom's sword will strongly draw,

            Freeman stand, or freeman fa',

                  Let him follow me!

            By oppression's woes and pains!

            By your sons in servile chains!

            We will drain our dearest veins,

                  But they shall be free!

            Lay the proud usurpers low!

           Tyrants fall in every foe!

            Liberty's in every blow!--

                 Let us do or die!

Comin thro' the Rye-Robert Burns 1759-1796, Song

[First Setting]

          Comin thro' the rye, poor body,

              Comin thro' the rye,

          She draigl't a' her petticoatie

             Comin thro' the rye.

[CHORUS.]

                    Oh Jenny 's a' weet poor body

                         Jenny 's seldom dry,

                    She draigl't a' her petticoatie

                         Comin thro' the rye.

          Gin a body meet a body

             Comin thro' the rye,

      Gin a body kiss a body --

             Need a body cry.

                  Oh Jenny 's a' weet, &c.

        Gin a body meet a body

            Comin thro' the glen;

      Gin a body kiss a body --

            Need the warld ken!

                  Oh Jenny 's a' weet, &c.

[Second Setting]

          Gin a body meet a body, comin thro' the rye,

          Gin a body kiss a body, need a body cry;

          Ilka body has a body, ne'er a ane hae I;

          But a' the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I.

          Gin a body meet a body, comin frae the well,

          Gin a body kiss a body, need a body tell;

         Ilka body has a body, ne'er a ane hae I,

          But a the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I.

         Gin a body meet a body, comin frae the town,

       Gin a body kiss a body, need a body gloom;

       Ilka Jenny has her Jockey, ne'er a ane hae I,

        But a' the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I.

How Cruel are the Parents-Robert Burns 1759-1796. The Other Ayrshire Poet

Altered from an old English song.

tune-"John Anderson, my jo."

How cruel are the parents Who riches only prize, And to the wealthy booby Poor Woman sacrifice! Meanwhile, the hapless Daughter Has but a choice of strife; To shun a tyrant Father's hate- Become a wretched Wife. The ravening hawk pursuing, The trembling dove thus flies, To shun impelling ruin, Awhile her pinions tries; Till, of escape despairing, No shelter or retreat, She trusts the ruthless Falconer, And drops beneath his feet.

Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms-Thomas Moore

Believe Me,
If All Those Endearing Young Charms
This is an Irish Song of the early 1800s. The melody had been used earlier for the poem My Lodging it is in the Cold Ground (the words were also associated with another tune by Locke). It was first printed in 1737 in London, but is probably much older. There was also a set of Scottish lyrics I Lo'ed Ne'er a Laddie But Ane. In 1808 Thomas Moore wrote the lyrics that are popular today. There is also a Harvard version of lyrics to the tune, Fair Harvard; of course, all are now public domain.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
 That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known,
 To which will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
 As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets.
The same look which she turn'd when he rose.
--Thomas Moore

END RACISM and PEACE OF MIND by Robert M. Hensel

END RACISM by Robert M. Hensel

We all must bring our Racism 

to end.

A message to all, I long to send.

The colours of the world, all join as

one.

For the Lord is our shepherd, and

we as his son.

Christ made all man in the likes of

him.

So please let us all, "End Racism".

PEACE OF MIND by Robert M. Hensel

Carry me out the ocean, where

my drifting thoughts flow free.

Guide them to a far distant land,

that only the mind can see.

There I shall paint a great portrait,

of what this world should be.

A place without senseless wars,

and human poverty.

Abandoned Dog- Robert W. Service (1874-1958)

Abandoned Dog

They dumped it on the lonely road,       Then like a streak they sped; And as along the way I strode       I thought that it was dead: And then I saw that yelping pup       Rise, race to catch them up.     You know how silly wee dogs are.       It thought they were in fun. Trying to overtake their car       I saw it run and run: But as they faster, faster went,       It stumbled, sore and spent. I found it prone upon the way;       Of life was little token. As limply in the dust it lay       I thought its heart was broken: Then one dim eye it opened and       It sought to like my hand. Of course I took it gently up       And brought it to my wife Who loves all dogs, and now that pup       Shares in our happy life: Yet how I curse the bastards who       Its good luck never knew!

Ugly The Cat

Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and, shall we say, love.

The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly. To start with, he had only one eye and where the other should have been was a hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner.

Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby, striped type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, and even his shoulders. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. “That’s one UGLY cat !”

All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always had the same reaction.

If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around your feet in forgiveness.

Whenever he spied children, he would come running, meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love.

If you ever picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.

One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbor’s dogs. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly’s sad life was almost at an end.

As I picked him up and tried to carry him home, I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. It must be hurting him terribly, I thought.

Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear. Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying, was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring.

Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion. At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain.

Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly.

Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I cared for.

Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me…I will always try to be Ugly.

Author Unknown

Summer-Anon circ 1240

SUMMERis icumen in,

Lhude sing cuccu!

Groweth sed, and bloweth med,

 And springeth the wude nu-

 Sing Cuccu!

Awe bleteth after lomb,

Lhouth after calve cu;

Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth,

Murie sing cuccu!

Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu, cuccu;

Ne swike thu naver nu;

Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu,

Sing cuccu, sing cuccy, nu!

Lhude-loudly. Nu-now. Ihouth-loweth. Sterteth-leaps. Verteth-hides in gren leaves or ferns.

 Murie-merrily. Swike-cease

The Giant Puff-Ball-Edmund Blunden (1896-1974)

The Giant Puff-Ball

From what sad star I know not, but I found

Myself new-born below the coppice rail,

No bigger than the dewdrops and as round,

In a soft sward, no cattle might assail.

And so I gathered mightiness and grew

With this one dream kindling in me, that I

Should never cease from conquering light and dew

Till my white splendour touched the trembling sky.

A century of blue and stilly light

Bowed down before me, the dew came again,

The moon my sibyl worshipped through the night,

The sun returned and long abode; but then

Hoarse drooping darkness hung me with a shroud

And switched at me with shrivelled leaves in scorn.

Red morning stole beneath a grinning cloud,

And suddenly clambering over dike and thorn

A half-moon host of churls with flags and sticks

Hallooed and hurtled up the partridge brood,

And Death clapped hands from all the echoing thicks,

And trampling envy spied me where I stood;

Who haled me tired and quaking, hid me by,

And came again after an age of cold,

And hung me in the prison-house adry

From the great crossbeam. Here defiled and old

I perish through unnumbered hours, I swoon,

Hacked with harsh knives to staunch a child's torn hand;

And all my hopes must with my body soon

Be but as crouching dust and wind-blown sand

.--Edmund Blunden

A Father, His Daughter, and His Son.

A Father, His Daughter, and His Son.

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, good wine in the other, totally worn out and screaming: 'Wooo Hoooo, what a ride! I wanna go round again!' 

Consequently, we need to teach our daughters the difference between a man who flatters her and a man who invests in her- for life; a man who views her as his property and a man who views her properly. 

We must teach her the difference between a man who lusts after her and a man who loves her; a man who believes he is a gift from “The Mother” to all women and a man who know that woman is Mother’s gift to man. AND THEN: we must teach ourselves; and our sons; to be that man.

No father ever wants to see,

his children go a muck;

so every day-in every way,

he does his level best;

to help them find a way,

to stand up to life's test.

He knows he cannot always be there,

and at times they will have to fail;

or learn; on their own; what’s best

no matter how it hurts to know

he must never think her lest;

for she must also grow.

Protector of a youthful heart;

consoler for all youth’s pains;

your first true love; your hero too

the very life within your veins;

never did he go away,

for all that life retains;

He’s your Daddy-don’t you know?

So, my child, love your father now;

give back some of what he has given you.

Because it’s flow is unconditional;

and asks for no reward;

now days such love is rare

and only he could teach you how. 

©Al (Alex-Alexander) D Girvan. All rights reserved.