Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE BURGH TOON O' RUTHERGLEN, by P. MCARTHUR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE BURGH TOON O' RUTHERGLEN, by                    
First Line: Ha'e ye been owre on cathkin side
Last Line: By oor auld kings to rutherglen.
Subject(s): Towns


HA'E ye been owre on Cathkin side,
An' seen between you an' the Clyde,
Some auld thack houses scatter'd wide,
Keen'd by the name o' Rutherglen?
A big jail near the market-place,
A kirk to keep the folk in grace,
A steeple wi' an auld clock face
To tell the hours in Rutherglen.
The ancient toon o' Rutherglen,
The burgh toon o' Rutherglen;
There's few that leeve and dinna ken
Aboot the folks in Rutherglen.

I ha'e been there when simmer days
Look'd doon the loan wi' scorchin' gaze,
Broon tannin' wi' their burnin' rays
The folks who leev'd in Rutherglen.
Scarce ocht was heard, scarce ocht was seen,
An' shuttle strokes were far between;
But come wi' me to yonder green --
The bleaching-green o' Rutherglen;
Folks min' their health in Rutherglen,
Far mair that wealth in Rutherglen;
To fecht the cock, or draw the brock's
The hardest wark in Rutherglen.

Look doon by softly-murmurin' Clyde --
Wha are they stretch'd alang it's side,
Or squatterin' in the cooling tide? --
The sportive youths o' Rutherglen.
At ease alang the grassy banks
The collier chiels are laid in ranks,
While lassies braw, wi' shapely shanks,
Spread oot the claes frae Rutherglen.
There's maidens braw in Rutherglen,
A' roon Stonelaw an' Rutherglen;
An' what's far mair, guid as they're fair,
Sae ken the lads o' Rutherglen.

I widna like to speak owre lood,
Nor ca' them over ill or good,
I'd like to say just what I should
About the folks in Rutherglen.
Variety's the charm o' life --
A time o' fun, a time o' strife;
Whiles ane wad think war to the knife
Wad be the end o' Rutherglen.
There's monthly fairs in Rutherglen,
To droon their cares in Rutherglen;
The guidwives bake the teugh soor-cake
At Draigle Dubbs in Rutherglen.

They've had, nae doot, great men o' sense,
Baith Provost Steel and General Spence,
Wha neither spared their time nor pence
To benefit auld Rutherglen.
Let deeds the Provost's virtues tell,
Like patriarch guid, he dug a well;
But had it been a whisky stell
'Twad pleas'd them mair in Rutherglen.
'Twasna the stuff for Rutherglen,
Some thocht it "buff" in Rutherglen;
Cauld water swipes ne'er cur'd the gripes,
Nor cheer'd the folk in Rutherglen.

When dargs are dune an' dressin's wrocht,
There's some amusement maun be socht,
For youth's no gi'en to dolorous thocht,
Nor sentiment, in Rutherglen.
The quoits, the bullets, or the ba'
Gowf'd up against the gavel wa',
Or kick'd alang, wi' cloit an' fa',
An' rough-spun words in Rutherglen.
A "roset" cloot in Rutherglen,
Bound ticht aboot in Rutherglen
Their broken banes an' achin' sprains,
Hales a' their sairs in Rutherglen.

When winter bares the Hangingshaw,
An' smoors the burgh toon in snaw,
Gang to you loch up by Stonelaw,
Ye'll fin' the men o' Rutherglen,
A' roarin' owre the rendin' ice,
Or dealin' oot the dram an' slice;
They tak' their fun -- are they no wise?
The blythesome men o' Rutherglen.
Wi' meat and drink frae Rutherglen,
They cheer each rink frae Rutherglen,
Till the stanes roar owre the hog score --
An' croon the tee for Rutherglen.

Are ye a man for Parliament,
On civic honours firmly bent?
Then, if ye want your siller spent,
Gang owre to ancient Rutherglen.
Ye'll fin' your frien's in grave debate,
Discussin' plans for Kirk an' State,
Owre foamin' jug an' reekin' plate --
The patriots true o' Rutherglen.
They sell nae votes in Rutherglen,
They're true-blue Scots in Rutherglen,
Rare honest-hearted burgh men
What rule the roast in Rutherglen.

In better days langsince gane by,
On commons free they fed their kye;
A' yon green bank whaur colliers lie
Belang'd to ancient Rutherglen.
But Council dinners were sae dear --
For Bailies aye like savoury cheer --
This gather'd debt frae year to year,
An' maistly ruin'd Rutherglen,
But brak nae hearts in Rutherglen,
Guid cream an' tarts in Rutherglen;
For Sunday rig, cross owre the Brig,
Ye Glasgow folk, to Rutherglen.

Before St. Mungo raised yon pile,
Wi' Gothic arch and dreary aisle,
An' ghaist-like pillars, file on file,
The warl a' kenn'd o' Rutherglen.
Ere the grey smith o' Molindaur
Had blawn his fire, or forg'd a bar,
Owre Scotland's region broad an' far
The fame was heard o' Rutherglen.
There's room for pride in Rutherglen,
'Mang a' that bide in Rutherglen;
Your purse-proud bodies -- Glasgow men --
Maun doff their cowls in Rutherglen.

If daurin' deeds demand oor praise,
Back to the Covenantin' days,
They set the hale Clyde in a blaze
By what was done in Rutherglen.
Before the jail, e'en at the Cross,
They burn'd the king's commands to dross,
Scatterin' the ashes like dry moss
Alang the streets in Rutherglen.
They laugh'd, ha, ha! in Rutherglen,
At king an' law in Rutherglen,
At vile Dalziel, at Lauderdale,
An' Clavers too, in Rutherglen!

In Rutherglen King Ruther sway'd;
There some say, Wallace was betray'd;
Frae Langside battle Mary fled
Up the Mill Wynd o' Rutherglen.
Guid nicht, auld freens, I'll quit my quill;
If I've said wrang, I meant nae ill --
I ne'er let wit aboot the bill
That brak your jail in Rutherglen!
Noo, whaur's the toon like Rutherglen?
Richts frae the Croon has Rutherglen,
In charters granted, nane kens when,
By oor auld kings to Rutherglen.





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