On reflection, I decided not to attempt a transcription from Sylvia's singing; Scots doesn't really have a standardised spelling, and, particularly as the lyric was made by a fairly recent writer as a poem, I felt that it should be done properly. Instead, I picked up a copy of one of Violet Jacob's books, The Scottish Poems of Violet Jacob (1944), which includes it. The book, and others of Jacob's, can be found quite easily, as they sold well in their day and were reprinted a number of times.

THE LAST O' THE TINKLER

(Violet Jacob)

Lay me in yon place, lad,
The gloamin's thick wi' nicht;
I canna see yer face, lad,
For my een's no richt.
But it's owre late for leein'
An' I ken fine I'm deein',
Like an auld craw fleein'
Tae the last o' the licht.

The kye gang tae the byre, lad,
The sheep tae the fauld,
Ye'll mak a spunk o' fire, lad,
For my he'rt's turned cauld;
And whaur the trees are meetin'
There's a soond like waters beatin',
An' the bird seems near tae greetin'
That was aye singin' bauld.

There's just the tent tae leave, lad,
I've gaither'd little gear,
There's just yersel' tae grieve, lad,
And the auld dog here;
But when the morn comes creepin'
And the waukin' birds are cheepin'
It'll find me lyin' sleepin'
As I've slept saxty year.

Ye'll rise tae meet the sun, lad,
And baith be trayv'lin' west,
But me that's auld an' done, lad,
I'll bide an' tak my rest;
For the grey heid is bendin'
And the auld shune's needin' mendin',
But the trayv'lin's near its endin',
An' the end's aye the best.


Violet Jacob, The Scottish Poems of Violet Jacob, Oliver and Boyd Ltd., Edinburgh 1944.


Sylvia may have changed it a little in the course of setting it to music; I still haven't unearthed my turntable to check that. This, anyway, is how it was originally intended by its writer.