Ballade Of The Tweed

The ferox rins in rough Loch Awe,

A weary cry frae ony toun;

The Spey, that loups o'er linn and fa',

They praise a' ither streams aboon;

They boast their braes o' bonny Doon:

Gie ME to hear the ringing reel,

Where shilfas sing, and cushats croon

By fair Tweed-side, at Ashiesteel!

There's Ettrick, Meggat, Ail, and a',

Where trout swim thick in May and June;

Ye'll see them take in showers o' snaw

Some blinking, cauldrife April noon:

Rax ower the palmer and march-broun,

And syne we'll show a bonny creel,

In spring or simmer, late or soon,

By fair Tweed-side, at Ashiesteel!

There's mony a water, great or sma',

Gaes singing in his siller tune,

Through glen and heugh, and hope and shaw,

Beneath the sun-licht or the moon:

But set us in our fishing-shoon

Between the Caddon-burn and Peel,

And syne we'll cross the heather broun

By fair Tweed-side at Ashiesteel!

ENVOY.

Deil take the dirty, trading loon

Wad gar the water ca' his wheel,

And drift his dyes and poisons doun

By fair Tweed-side at Ashiesteel!