Beaver

Eident indwaller o that wilderness
Reddin and guidin it fir your domain:
Smaa pioneer, makar miraculous,
Frien beaver: tak this haun’s-turn o my ain.

Frae birk or sauch, poplar or quakin-esh,
You chaw your biggin-gear, forby your meat;
Deep in the swurlin waters you enmesh
A routh o logs and brainches, ticht and neat.

A crannog reeks intil the winter air:
Your fowk byde in their chaumer het and hale.
Swimming up throu a bore ti jyne thaim there,
You beat a ferlie music wi thon tail.

The Indian hunter kent you fir a God;
His squaw has taen your kitlins ti her breast …
Your clan – and his – were bi the mongers caa’d
Doon fir mass slauchter. Few wad spear, wha’s neist?

Syne we hae cried you back: oor governaunce
Had fund a gairden, left it as a muir.
Whit is your secret, beaver, as you daunce
At the lochside wi your feres? Whit is your pouer?

Eident indwaller o thon wilderness
Reddin and guiding it fir your domain:
Smaa pioneer, makar miraculous,
Frien beaver: tak this haun’s-turn o my ain.