Posthumous Poems/Duriesdyke
DURIESDYKE
The rain rains sair on Duriesdyke, Both the winter through and the spring;And she that will gang to get broom thereby She shall get an ill thing.
The rain rains sair on Duriesdyke, Both the winter and the summer day;And he that will steek his sheep thereby He shall go sadly away.
"Between Crossmuir and Duriesdyke The fieldhead is full green;The shaws are thick in the fair summer, And three well-heads between.
"Flower of broom is a fair flower, And heather is good to play."O she went merry to Duriesdyke, But she came heavy away.
"It's I have served you, Burd Maisry, These three months through and mair;And the little ae kiss I gat of you, It pains me aye and sair.
"This is the time of heather-blowing, And that was syne in the spring;And the little ae leaf comes aye to red, And the corn to harvesting."
The first kiss their twa mouths had, Sae fain she was to greet;The neist kiss their twa mouths had, I wot she laughed fu' sweet.
"Cover my head with a silken hood, My feet with a yellow claith;For to stain my body wi' the dyke-water, God wot I were fu' laith."
He's happit her head about wi' silk, Her feet with a gowden claith;The red sendal that was of price, He's laid between them baith.
The grass was low by Duriesdyke, The high heather was red;And between the grass and the high heather, He's tane her maidenhead.
They did not kiss in a noble house, Nor yet in a lordly bed;But their mouths kissed in the high heather, Between the green side and the red.
"I have three sailing ships, Maisry, For red wheat and for wine;The maintopmast is a bonny mast, Three furlongs off to shine.
"The foremast shines like new lammer, The mizzenmast like steel:Gin ye wad sail wi' me, Maisry, The warst should carry ye weel."
"Gin I should sail wi' you, Lord John, Out under the rocks red,It's wha wad be my mither's bower-maiden To hap saft her feet in bed?
"Gin I should sail wi' you, Lord John, Out under the rocks white,There's nane wad do her a very little ease To hap her left and right."
It fell upon the midwinter, She gat mickle scaith and blame;She's bowed hersell by the white water To see his ships come hame.
She's leaned hersell against the wind, To see upon the middle tide;The faem was fallen in the running wind, The wind was fallen in the waves wide.
“There’s nae moon by the white water To do me ony good the day;And but this wind a little slacken, They shall have a sair seaway.
“O stir not for this nied, baby, O stir not at my side;Ye'll have the better birth, baby, Gin ye wad but a little abide.”