Classic Poem

A POEM ON THE NORTH-SEA FISHERY,

T HALIA , anes again, in blythsome lays,
In lays immortal, chant the North Sea's praise:
Tent how the Caledonians, lang supine,
Begin, mair wise, to open baith their een;
And, as they ought, t' employ that store which Heav'n
In sic abundance to their hands has giv'n.
Sae, th' heedless heir, born to a lairdship wide,
That yields mair plenty than he kens to guide,
Not well acquainted with his ain good luck,
Lets ilka sneaking fellow take a pluck;
Till at the lang run, wi' a heart right fair,
He sees the bites grow bein, as he grows bare;
Then, wak'ning, looks about with glegger glour,
And learns to thrive, wha ne'er thought on 't before.

Nae nation in the warld can parallel
The plenteous product of this happy isle:
But past'ral heights, and sweet prolific plains,
That can at will command the saftest strains,
Stand yont; for Amphitrite claims our sang,
Wha round fair Thule drives her finny thrang,
O'er shaws of coral and the pearly sands,
To Scotia's smoothest lochs and crystal strands.
There keeps the tyrant pike his awfu' court,
Here trouts and salmond in clear channels sport.
Wae to that hand that dares by day or night
Defile the stream where sporting fries delight.
But herrings, lovely fish, like best to play
In rowan ocean, or the open bay;
In crowds amazing thro' the waves they shine,
Millions on millions form ilk equal line:
Nor dares th' imperial whale, unless by stealth,
Attack their firm united commonwealth.
But artfu' nets, and fishers' wilie skill,
Can bring the scaly nations to their will.
When these retire to caverns of the deep,
Or in their oozy beds thro' winter sleep,
Then shall the tempting bait, and tented string,
Beguile the cod, the sea-cat, tusk, and ling.
Thus may our fishery thro' a' the year
Be still employ'd t' increase the public gear.

Delytfou labour! where th' industrious gains
Profit surmounting ten times a' his pains:
Nae pleasure like success; then lads stand bye,
Ye 'll find it endless in the northern sea.
O'er lang with empty brag we have been vain
Of toom dominion on the plenteous main,
While others ran away with all the gain.
Thus proud Iberia vaunts of sov'reign sway
O'er countries rich, frae rise to set of day;
She grasps the shadows, but the substance tines,
While a' the rest of Europe milk her mines.

But dawns the day sets Britain on her feet;
Lang look'd-for 's come at last, and welcome be 't;
For numerous fleets shall hem Aebudan rocks;
Commanding seas with rowth to raise our stocks:
Nor can this be a toom chimæra found,
The fabric 's bigget on the surest ground.
Sma' is our need to toil on foreign shores,
When we have baith the Indies at our doors:
Yet, for diversion, laden vessels may
To far aff nations cut the liquid way;
And fraught frae ilka port what 's nice or braw,
While for their trifles we maintain them a'.
Goths, Vandals, Gauls, Hesperians, and the Moors,
Shall a' be treated frae our happy shores:
The rantin Germans, Russians, and the Poles,
Shall feast with pleasure on our gusty shoals;
For which deep in their treasures we shall dive:
Thus by fair trading north-sea stock shall thrive.

Sae far the bonny prospect gives delight,
The warm ideas gart the muse take flight;
When straight a grumbletonian appears,
Peching fou sair beneath a laid of fears:—
“Wow! that's braw news,” quoth he, “to make
“fools fain;
“But gin ye be nae warlock, how d' ye ken?
“Does Tam the Rhymer spae oughtlings of this?
“Or do ye prophesy just as ye wish?
“Will projects thrive in this abandon'd place?
“Unsonsy we had ne'er sae meikle grace.
“I fear, I fear, your tow'ring aim fa' short,
“Alake we winn o'er far frae king and court!
“The southerns will with pith your project “bauk,
“They 'll never thole this great design to tak.”

Thus do the dubious ever countermine,
With party wrangle, ilka fair design.
How can a saul that has the use of thought,
Be to sic little creeping fancies brought?
Will Britain's king or parliament gainstand
The universal profit of the land?
Now when nae sep'rate int'rest eggs to strife,
The ancient nations, join'd like man and wife,
Maun study closs for peace and thriving's sake,
Aff a' the wissen'd leaves of spite to shake.
Let 's weave and fish to ane anither's hands,
And never think wha serves or wha commands;
But baith alike consult the common weal,
Happy that moment friendship makes us leal
To truth and right; then springs a shining day,
Shall clouds of sma' mistakes drive fast away.
Mistakes and private int'rest hence be gane!
Mind what they did on dire Pharsalia's plain,
Where doughty Romans were by Romans slain.

A meaner phantom neist, with meikle dread,
Attacks with senseless fears the weaker head:—
“The Dutch,” say they, “will strive your plot to “stap,
“They'll toom their banks before you reap their crap:
“Lang have they ply'd that trade like busy bees,
“And suck'd the profit of the Pictland seas;
“Thence riches fish'd mair, by themselves confest,
“Than e'er they made by Indies East and West.”

O mighty fine and greatly was it spoke!
Maun bauld Britannia bear Batavia's yoke?
May she not apen her ain pantry-door,
For fear the paughty state should gi'e a roar?
Dare she nane of her herrings sell or prive,
Afore she say, “Dear Matkie, wi' ye'r leave?”
Curse on the wight wha tholes a thought sae tame!
He merits not the manly Briton's name.
Grant they 're good allies, yet it 's hardly wise
To buy their friendship at sae high a price:
But frae that airth we needna fear great skaith,
These people, right auldfarran, will be laith
To thwart a nation, wha with ease can draw
Up ilka sluice they have, and drown them a'.

Ah, slothfu' pride! a kingdom's greatest curse;
How dowf looks gentry with an empty purse!
How worthless is a poor and haughty drone,
Wha thowless stands a lazy looker-on!
While active sauls a stagnant life despise,
Still ravish'd with new pleasures as they rise.
O'er lang, in troth, have we by-standers been,
And loot fowk lick the white out of our een:
Nor can we wyt them, since they had our vote;
But now they 'se get the whistle of their groat.

Here did the muse intend a while to rest,
Till hameo'er spitefu' din her lugs opprest;
Anither set of the envious kind
(With narrow notions horribly confin'd)
Wag their boss noddles, syne with silly spite
Land ilka worthy project in a bite.
They force with awkward girn their ridicule,
And ca' ilk ane concern'd a simple fool,
Excepting some wha a' the lave will nick,
And gi'e them nought but bare whop-shafts to lick.

Malicious envy! root of a' debates,
The plague of government and bane of states;
The nurse of positive destructive strife,
Fair friendship's fae, which sours the sweets of life;
Promoter of sedition and base fead,
Still overjoy'd to see a nation bleed:—
Stap, stap, my lass, forgetna where ye 're gawn,
If ye rin on, Heav'n kens where ye may land;
Turn to your fishers' sang, and let fowk ken
The north-sea skippers are leal hearted men,
Vers'd in the critic seasons of the year,
When to ilk bay the fishing-buss should steer,
There to hawl up with joy the plenteous fry,
Which on the decks in shining heaps shall lie,
Till carefou hands, e'en while they 've vital heat,
Shall be employ'd to save their juices sweet;
Strick tent they 'll tak to stow them wi' strange brine,
In barrels tight, that shall nae liquor tine;
Then in the foreign markets we shall stand
With upright front, and the first sale demand.
This, this our faithfou trustees have in view,
And honourably will the task pursue;
Nor are they bigging castles in a cloud,
Their ships already into action scud.

Now, dear ill-natur'd billies, say nae mair,
But leave the matter to their prudent care:
They 're men of candour, and right well they wate
That truth and honesty hads lang the gate:
Shoulder to shoulder let 's stand firm and stout,
And there 's nae fear but we 'll soon make it out;
We 've reason, law, and nature on our side,
And have nae bars, but party, sloth, and pride.

When a' 's in order, as it soon will be,
And fleets of busses fill the northern sea,
What hopefou images with joy arise
In order rank'd before the muse's eyes!
A wood of masts, well mann'd, their jovial din,
Lik eydent bees gawn out and coming in:
Here haff a nation, healthfou wise, and stark,
With spirits only tint for want of wark,
Shall now find place their genius to exert,
While in the common good they act their part.
These fit for servitude shall bear a hand,
And these find government form'd for command.
Besides, this, as a nursery, shall breed
Stout skill'd marines, which Britain's navies need.
Pleas'd with their labour, when their task is done,
They 'll leave green Thetis to embrace the sun:
Then freshest fish shall on the brander bleez,
And lend the busy browster wife a heez;
While healthfou hearts shall own their honest flame,
With reaming quaff, and whomelt to her name,
Whase active motion to his heart did reach,
As she the cods was turning on the beech.
Curs'd poortith! love and hymen's deadly fae,
(That gars young fowk in prime cry aft, “Oh hey!”
And single live, till age and runkles shaw
Their canker'd spirits good for nought at a'.)
Now flit your camp, far frae our confines scour,
Our lads and lasses soon shall slight your pow'r;
For rowth shall cherish love, and love shall bring
Mae men t' improve the soil and serve the king.
Thus universal plenty shall produce
Strength to the state, and arts for joy and use.

O plenty! thou delyt of great and sma',
Thou nervous sinnow of baith war and law!
The statesman's drift, spur to the artist's skill;
Nor do the very flamens like thee ill;
The shabby poets hate thee:—that 's a lie!
Or else they are nae of a mind wi' me.

Plenty shall cultivate ilk scawp and moor,
Now lea and bare, because the landlord 's poor.
On scroggy braes shall akes and ashes grow,
And bonny gardens clad the brecken how.
Do others backward dam the raging main,
Raising on barren sands a flow'ry plain?
By us then shou'd the thought o' 't be endur'd,
To let braid tracts of land lie unmanur'd?
Uncultivate nae mair they shall appear,
But shine with a' the beauties of the year;
Which start with ease frae the obedient soil,
And ten times o'er reward a little toil.

Alang wild shores, where tumbling billows break,
Plenisht with nought but shells and tangle wreck,
Braw towns shall rise, with steeples mony a ane,
And houses bigget a' with estler stane;
Where schools polite shall lib'ral arts display,
And make auld barb'rous darkness fly away.

Now Nereus rising frae his wat'ry bed,
The pearly drops hap down his lyart head;
Oceanus with pleasure hears him sing,
Tritons and Nereids form a jovial ring,
And, dancing on the deep, attention draw,
While a' the winds in love, but sighing, blaw.
The sea-born prophet sang, in sweetest strain,
“Britons, be blyth; fair queen of isles, be fain;
“A richer people never saw the sun.
“Gang tightly throw what fairly you 've begun,
“Spread a' your sails and streamers in the wind,
“For ilka pow'r in sea and air 's your friend;
“Great Neptune's unexhausted bank has store
“Of endless wealth, will gar yours a' run o'er.”
He sang sae loud, round rocks the echoes flew,
“'Tis true,” he said; and they return'd, “'Tis “true.”