Scots Poem

Loversgrove lay

Off to the lighthearted south,

Chat-south, miles & more miles. Weel,

Mot-tive flunks a man's mouth seems full of teeth.

Peered at her long

Sidewise and would not or could

Not say Love will be leaping

Hopeless forever, trampling one who stood

Near to her long

Till she looked poorly and died.

Braird in the breast evergreen,

Grey the fieldgrass though, man's friend. I'm inside. -

-Trumpet shall sound,

Angel and archangel cry:

Come forth, Isobell Mitchel!

and meet William Matheson in the sky.

Joun BERRYMAN