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 Tweedside, at Ashestiel!

There’s Ettrick, Megget, Ale, 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 Tweedside, at Ashestiel!

There’s mony a water, great or sma’,
Gaes singing in his siller tune,
Through glen and heuch, and hope and shaw,
Beneath the sunlicht 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 Tweedside, at Ashestiel!

Envoi

Deil tak the dirty trading loon
Wad gar the water ca’ his wheel,
And drift his dyes and poisons doun
By fair Tweedside, at Ashestiel!