[Written for the occasion of a ploughing match dinner, in 1850.] Air - " When the kye come hame." Anither season's brocht aboot anither pleughin'-match, Ca'd able men an' horses out the victor's prize tae catch; Whaur frien'ship warms each bosom, an' ilka heart is glad. Tae see the skilfu' labours o' the pleughman lad ; O' the pleughman lad, o' the pleughman lad, Whaur the clods are turned sae neatly by the pleughman lad. The peacefu' year o' jubilee is welcome tae our land, Tho' Scotia's sons ha'e aye been free within their native strand; Their hearths the haunts o' freedom, their mills the nerves o' trade ; An' their cakes supplied thro' labours o' the pleughman lad ; O' the pleughman lad, etc., Whaur her fertile braes are rigget by the pleughman lad. The rosy-cheeket dairy-maid, sae winsome, neat an' clean, May shy altho' she canna hide the glances o' her een ; She wad cast a gown o' velvet, an' lea' a state parade, For a corner o' the barn wi her pleughman lad ; Wi' her pleughman lad, etc., For a row amang the fodder wi' her pleughman lad. The maister watchin' o'er his fields wi' skill an' hopefu' care, Observes he gets the better yield whaur science does its share ; Himsel' was aince a pleugh-boy, a furthy rovin' blade, An' sae weel he kens the value o' his pleughman lad ; O' his pleughman lad, etc., He's fu' big aboot the prizes o' his pleughman lad. Now gloamin' o'er the furrow'd field has flung his dusky plaid. The steeds are feedin' in the beild, an' we sit side by side, Whaur the lan'lady is frank, an' our table richly spread, Let us toast a flowin' bumper tae the pleughman lad. Tae the pleughman lad, etc., An' may plenty croun the labours o' the pleughman lad.
The Village of Chryston - North Lanarkshire - Scotland
Walter Watson
The Chryston Poet