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Andrew Lang - Ballade Of The Tweed
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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!
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