their dress, if not a plaid, of tartan. This poem was written in November, 1818.]
The Village of Chryston - North Lanarkshire - Scotland
The year's gaun dwindlin' fast awa',
The norlan' breezes sharply blaw,
An' mountains taps are o'er wi' snaw,
Whaur heather bloom'd sae bonnie, O.
The flowers frae ilka field are fled,
The woods ha'e lost their fragrant shade,
Now we'll fling on the tartan plaid,
The hap o' Caledonia.
Our bloomin' maids, sae fair, sae gay,
Wha walk the streets in rich array,
Their chequer'd native garb display.
As neat, as braw as ony, O.
The herdsman lad that climbs the hill
Whaur growlin' Winter gets his will,
Wi' tartan plaid an' Highlan' gill,
Sings loud in Caledonia.
Tho' Fortune's placed us here awhile,
Whaur bustlin' Commerce wear's a smile,
Back tae auld Scotia's frien'ly isle,
Our thochts are kin' an' mony, O.
We're met as brethren in good cheer,
This festive day, tae honour here
A day that ever shall be dear
Tae sons o' Caledonia.
Let cracks gae roun', an' sangs be sung,
In our auld kin'ly mither tongue,
Till heels o'er head auld Care be flung
By ilka social crony, O.
Let honour guide our steps alang,
Whaure'er we ha'e a fit tae gang,
Now wi' this toast I'll en' my sang-
"Our frien's in Caledonia."