Explore "The Last O' the Tinkler" by Violet Jacob on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Lay me in yon place, lad, / The gloamin's thick wi' nicht; / I canna' see yer face, lad, / For my een's no richt, / But it's owre late for leein', / An' I ken fine I'm deein', / Like an auld craw fleein' / To the last o' the licht.
The kye gang to the byre, lad, / An' the sheep to the fauld, / Ye'll mak' a spunk o' fire, lad, / For my he'rt's turned cauld; / An' whaur the trees are meetin', / There's a sound like waters beatin', / An' the bird seems near to greetin', / That was aye singin' bauld.
There's jist the tent to leave, lad, / I've gaithered little gear, / There's jist yersel' to grieve, lad, / An' the auld dug here; / An' when the morn comes creepin', / An' the waukw'nin' birds are cheipin', / It'll find me lyin' sleepin' / As I've slept saxty year.
Ye'll rise to meet the sun, lad, / An' baith be traiv'lin west, / But me that's auld an' done, lad, / I'll bide an' tak' my rest; / For the grey heid is bendin', / An' the auld shune's needin' mendin', / But the traiv'lin's near its endin', / And the end's aye the best.