Wullie Tamson, Late o’ Snar
Near whaur Duneaton smoothly flows
A namely poet leeved langsyne,
A kin’ly, genial, honest soul
Wha wove his fancies intae rhyme.
A humble shepherd lad was he,
An’ ne’er aspired tae high estate:
His name was never on the roll
Amang the world’s rich an’ great.
In simmer heat an’ winter’s snaw
He tent his flocks upon the hill,
Whaur he could inspiration draw
Frae tum’lin’ burn an’ sparklin’ rill,
Frae heather bloom an’ wavin’ fern,
Frae lintie’s sang an’ bonnie flooer,
Frae winter storms an’ driftin’ snaw,
Frae thunder-cloud an’ sleety shooer.
In simple words he sweetly voiced
The joys an’ sorrows o’ the poor;
‘Mang shepherd lads the country roon
He bore the gree in social oor.
A man o’ independent mind,
He feared nae maister, man, or lord;
Aye strecht was he at mairt or fair
Or seated at the social board.
Auld Scotland, why will we forget
Tae render honour whaur it’s due?
Why will we fawn on gowd an’ lan’
Wi’ naething higher in oor view?
Let’s fill a bumper tae the brim
An’ toast his mem’ry near an’ far,
An’ ne’er forget tae honour men
The Nation mourns for K. of K.;
Who from this life has passed away;
His body lies beneath the wave,
The soldier’s found a sailor’s grave.
The hero he of many a fight,
Was stern, unbending, for the right;
In purpose strong, he feared no foe;
Ah, Fate! then why this cruel blow?
The Nation mourns; where can she find
A man so true, so just, so kind,
With brain and hand to guide the helm,
And guard the honour of the realm?
Would he had lived to see the fall
Of Europe’s tyrants one and all,
From war’s fell grip the world’s release,
And nations crowned with lasting peace!
Sleep on, great heart! If we endure
Like thee, our victory is sure;
Thy shade will lead us, Nation’s friend,
Thy spirit conquer in the end.