The Book of Scottish Song/Border Song

Border Song.

[W. A. Foster.—Here first printed.]

Come listen now, ladies,—it winna be lang,
While I sing you a cannie Northumberland sang;
It will tell you o' sports that have lang been my pride,
And the games we've been haddin' in bonnie Till side;
There 's few keener o' them,—come tell me o' ane,—
For thrawing the hammer, or putting the stane.

The Cheviot bred lads may beat us for speed;
And the prize for the jumping may gang to the Tweed;
The quoits to the town, and the race to the hill;
But there's something we'll keep on the banks of the Till:
Two prizes there are,— I will yield them to nane—
The thrawing the hammer and putting the stane.

John Cole, wi' his rifle, may beat us, I trow;
William Foster now sticks to his arrow and bow;
Let them come frae the Beaumont and Tweed to the Till,
We'll match them for something at Auld Heaton Mill:
Ay, sirs, look and see—a' these medals were ta'en,
By thrawing the hammer and putting the stane.

Etal, Crookham, and Ford, have na seen sic a day,
Since the trumpet's blast raised them for Flodden's affray,
But a bard of renown has that battle-field sung;
And I tell o' the games in my ain mother tongue:
We like sport but nae fighting,—just let us alane,
When thrawing the hammer and putting the stane.

The feuds on the Borders nae langer run fierce;
Northumberland kindly shakes hands wi' the Merse:
Baith sides o' the Tweed—and a cheer for the games,
And good health to the victors, whatever their claims,
And lang may the Border lads flourish and reign,
At thrawing the hammer and putting the stane.

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