Oor Jock he cam’ fra ower t’ sea
    He war sea lish and fair,
An’ he went back, Ah, wae is me,
    We shall not see him mair.

His mudder mourns i’ sleep at neet,
    Oor beck mourns a’ thro’ t’ day,
An’ fra th’ valley at oor feet
    The sun seems flayte awaay.

T’ warst is Jock’s sheep-dog pines and pines,
    He’s lost a’ heart o’ graace,
An’ when we speak o’ Jock he whines
    An’ loups to kiss my feace.

When Jock put on his fightin’ kit
    An’ went to git on t’ train,
His dog—owd Bob—he kna’d of it,
    To gang wid him war fain.

There intil t’ carridge crep’ and crep’,
    And gat reet under t’ seat,
But t’ porter pu’ed him off of t’ step
    And seaved oor Bob fra death.

T’ dog seems to hev a brakken heart,
    He hears the garth gate slam,
And oop he gets and mak’s a start
    To bid his maister yan.

On chance to glimpse him neet and morn
    He’ll gang to top o’ t’ Rise.
And cooms back like a thing forlorn
    Wid melancholy eyes.

An’ when he’s gedderin’ t’ sheap on’ t’ fell
    He’ll stop like any stean,
To hear far off the station bell,
    And watch th’ slockening train.

T’ war’s hell, my lad! I divvent ken
    Owt else sae sad and sair,
It breks baith hearts o’ t’ dogs an’ men,
    For Jock cooms back nea mair.

Tho’ t’ hearts o’ t’ dogs and men are broke,
    And t’ sorrer cannot cease,
At least we fell and valley fwoak
    Can ploo oor fields I’ peace.

Eh, but I’se glad to Jock war given
    To help to git things thro’,
He mebbe smiles to-ay i’ Heaven
    To see oor Auld Fwoaks do.

(Carlisle Journal, 6 January 1920, p. 6)