Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A PLEA FOR THE DORIC, by JANET HAMILTON Poet's Biography First Line: Forgi'e, oh, forgi'e me, auld scotlan', my mither! Last Line: That I'll never hear tell whan the doric is gane. Alternate Author Name(s): Hamilton, Janet Thompson Subject(s): Scotland | ||||||||
FORGI'E, oh, forgi'e me, auld Scotlan', my mither! Like an ill-deedie bairn, I've ta'en up wi' anither; And aft thy dear Doric aside I hae flung, To busk oot my sang wi' the prood Southron tongue. They say that our auld hamelt tongue, my ain mither, Is deein', and sune will be dead a'thegither; Whan thy callants hae ceased to be valiant and free, And thy maids to be modest, oh juist let it dee! Shall the tongue that was spoken by Wallace the wicht, In the sangs o' thy poets sae lo'esome and bricht, Sae pithy an' pawkie, sae tender an' true, O' sense and slee humour an' feelin' sae fu'; Shall the tongue that was spoken by leal Scottish men, Whan they stood for their richts on the hill an' the glen Oh, say, maun it dee, when the last words that hung On the lips o' the martyr war ain mither tongue? Oh, think ye the tongue that at red Bannockburn Bade charge to the onsetthink ye it maun turn To a thing o' the past, that our bairns winna ken To read mither tongue on that mither's fire en'? Juist think gif the "Cottar's ain Saturday Nicht" War stripped o' the Doric, wi' English bedicht To the leal Scottish heart it wad ne'er be the same; Wi' sic truth and sic feelin' it wadna strike hame. At the saft gloamin' hour, "when the kye's comin' hame," And the young heart is loupin' to hear the dear name, What tongue like the Doric love's saft tale can tell 'Neath the lang yellow broom an' the red heather-bell? I'm wae for Auld Reekie; her big men o' print To Lunnon ha'e gane, to be nearer the mint; But the coinage o' brain looks no a'e haet better, Though Doric is banish'd frae sang, tale, and letter. But there's a'e thing I'm sure o'ere lang I maun gang, Yet aye whan I dow I maun lilt a bit sang; And sae soun' shall I sleep 'neath the auld mossy stane, That I'll never hear tell whan the Doric is gane. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SCOTLAND'S WINTER by EDWIN MUIR ELEGY ASKING THAT IT BE THE LAST; FOR INGRID ERHARDT, 1951-1971 by NORMAN DUBIE FUSELAGE INSTALLATION by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA SHOOTING SEASON; IN THE NORTH OF SCOTLAND by ROBINSON JEFFERS IN JOHN UPDIKE'S ROOM by CHRISTOPHER WISEMAN THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE HEART OF THE BRUCE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY BEFORE BANNOCKBURN by ROBERT BURNS A BALLAD FOUNDED ON A REAL INCIDENT WHICH OCCURED IN HIGH LIFE by JANET HAMILTON |
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