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Scots Language Centre Centre for the Scots Leid

The Quoich

26th September 2012

Fin pibroch lingers on the lug
Fin wauchts o simmer come unsocht
Fin saftsome wins, the laricks, rug,
The Quoich rins aften ben ma thocht.

A Heilan cateran, its puils
Are targs o crystal, purest glaisse
Whyles in a tuilzie, ower it sweels
In Simmer, gowd. In Autumn, braisse.

Swack as a dauncer kicks her queats
Or swippert troot owerlowps a steen
The Quoich jinks roon a broon beech-foun,
A bonnie, bricht, plaid-preen.

The stars that licht the Heavens bi nicht
Skinkle atap her waves bi day
Pit-mirk draps doon her dusky goun
The shade, in ilkie amber bay

A fusper o rebellion hings
Yet, in the haughs o lowrin bens
Far Bobbin John cried oot the clans
A hornets’ nest, that teemed the glens.

The dawnin studs the Quoich wi dyew
The merle rings her banks wi sang
A hunner hare bells tinkle noo
Far anely ghaists an ghillies gyang.