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10 Jun 04 - 12:37 PM (#1204417) Subject: Lyr/TuneAdd: ANGLER'S SONG IN PRAISE OF THE COQUET From: *#1 PEASANT* THE ANGLER'S SONG IN PRAISE OF THE COQUET The lambs they are feeding on Lanely Shiel Moor, And the breezes blaw softly o'er dark Simonside; The birds they are lilting in ilka green bow'r, And the streams o' the Coquet sae merrily glide. The primrose is blooming near Halystane well; The birds on the saugh and the bonny birk tree: The muir cocks are calling frae Harbottle Fell, And the snaw wreaths are gane frae the Cheviot sae hie. The mist's on the mountain ,the dew's on the lea; The lasses hae kilted their coats to the knee; The shepherds are piping near Baraburn brae, And the sunbeams are glinting far over the sea: Then we'll aff to the Coquet, wi' hoo, hair and tackle, Wi' our neat taper'd gads and our weel-belted creels, And far frae the bustle and din o' Newcassel, Begin our campaign at the streams o' Linshiels. Mair big o' our conquests than great Alexander, We'll rise to our sport wi' the morning's first beam, Our creels will grow heavier as onward we wander, And we'll levy large tributes frae pool and frae stream, We'll plunder the deep, and the shallows we'll tax well, Till Sharperton, Hepple, and Thropton are past, And we'll halt near the Thrum for a dinner wi Maxwell, And land at our auld hame of Weldon at last. The nimrod may boast o' his horse and his hounds; About louping o'er hedges and ditches may rave, But what's a' his clamour, his rides and his rounds, Compar'd wi' the mumur o' Coquet's pure wave. And ramrod may brag o' his pointer sae staunch, And tramp untill weary o'er stubble and lea; But what's a' his fun wi' his dog and his gun, Compar'd to the lang rod and thrawing the flee. Now the crag-end is past and auld Brinkburn is nearest, Near the green braes o' Todstead the pride o' the vale Then hey for auld Weldon, to anglers the dearest, Auld Weldon whose cellars and streams never fail, Here we'll talk o' our triumph and boast o' our slaughter, How we hook'd him, and play'd him and kill'd him sae fine And the battle sae gloriously finish'd in water, Again and again we'll fight over in wine. Here's success to the gad, and a health to each friend on't, If e'er prayer o' mine can have interest above; May they run their lines smoothly, nor soon see an end on't, And their course be asa clear as the stream that they love. May the current o' life still spread gliding before them, And their joys ever rise as the season draws nigh; And if ever, as may happen, misfortune comes o'er them, Oh may her darts fall on them, light as the fly. llka=each Halystane-small village on the south bank of the Coquet below Harbottle Saugh= willow Birk= birch Brae= steep bank Gad= fishing rod Creel- wickerwork basket for fish Loup-= leap Lang=long Flee= fly The tune may have been a dance tune originally. X: 1 T:The Angler's Song IN Praise of the Coquet M:6/8 L:1/8 S:Polwarth K:Bb B|G E C C D C|G F G B2 G/2 G/2 |F D B, B, C B, | D C D F2 B| G> E C C D C|G F G B2 c/2 c/2| |B G B F D B,| C D C C2|| G| |c d c c B G|c d e d2 c| B c B B G F| F G B Bc d| c d c c B G | c d e d f d | B G B F D B, | C D C C2|| |