To the Author of the" Address to, Watson’s Party.

Southland Times, Issue 14287, 2 March 1899, Page 2

To the Author of the" Address to, Watson’s Party.

I think he’s no’ a canny chiel Wha penned sic lines as yon a’tweel, Losh me ! he beats the vera deil For doonricht leein’. Ne’er fash your head wi’ what he says, His brain’s been in a kind o’ maize, Sic’ stuff as yon deserves nae’ praise Frae mensefu' be’in. Lots o’ puir bodies frae the South, Wad fain betimes renew their youth, Whaur Nature has in vera truth Displayed her finery. But after hearin’ sic a crack, I doot they’ll gie their lips a smack And ponder weel before they mak’ For Milford scenery. But ablins, it is hard tae tell: Maybe he thinks tae lead hirnsel’ A squad o’ tourists, and dispel The thochts o’ what has been. They'll skim the loch wi’ lightning speed, A cloudless sky abune their head, Nae currents swift, nor rocks tae dreed Nor blasts tae blin’ the een. O scones and tea they’ll hae their fill, And syne a halesome heasin’ gill Will guar them spout wi’ richt guidwill And keep them cheery. Wi’ fair delight they’ll rant and sing, And maybe dance the Highland Fling, Until baith pipes and fiddle string Gang tapsalteerie. “ Scots Wha Hae.”