The Neep-Fields By the Sea

Ye’d wonder foo the seasons rin
This side o’ Tweed an’ Tyne;
The hairst’s awa’; October-month
Cam in a whilie syne,
But the stooks are oot in Scotland yet,
There’s green upon the tree,
And oh! What grand’s the smell ye’ll get
Frae the neep-fields by the sea!

The lang lift lies abune the warld,
On ilka windless day
The ships creep doon the ocean line
Sma’ on the band o’ grey;
And the lang sigh heaved upon the sand
Comes pechin’ up tae me
And speils the cliffs tae whaur ye stand
I’ the neep-fields by the sea.

Oh, time’s aye slow, tho’ time gangs fast
When siller’s a’ tae mak’,
An’ deith, afore ma poke is fu’
May grip me i’ the back;
But ye’ll tak’ ma banes an’ my Sawbath braws,
Gin deith’s ower smairt for me,
And set them up amang the shaws
I’ the lang rows plantit atween the wa’s,
A tattie-dulie for fleggin’ craws
I’ the neep-fields by the sea.