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)