Explore "The Whustlin' Lad" by Violet Jacob on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There's a wind comes doon frae the braes when the licht is spreadin' / Chilly an' grey, / An' the auld cock craws at the yett o' the muirland steadin' / Cryin' on day; / The hoose lies sound an' the sma' mune's deein' an' weary / Watchin' her lane, / The shadows creep by the dyke an' the time seems eerie, / But the lad i' the fields he is whustlin' cheery, cheery, / 'Yont i' the rain.
My mither stirs as she wauks wi' her twa een blinkin', / Bedded she'll bide, / For foo can an auld wife ken what a lassie's thinkin' / Close at her side? / Mither, lie still, for ye're needin' a rest fu' sairly, / Weary an' worn, / Mither, I'll rise, an' ye ken I'll be warkin' fairly -- / An' I dinna ken "wha" can be whustlin', whustlin', aerly, / Lang or it's morn!