Away frae the smoke an' the smother!
Away frae the crush o' the thrang!
Away frae the labour an' pother
That has fettered our freedom sae lang!
For the May's i' full bloom i' the hedges
And the laverock's aloft i' the blue,
An' the south wind sings low i' the sedges,
By haughs that are silvery wi' dew.
Up angler, off wi' each shackle!
Up, gad an' gaff, an' awa'!
Cry 'Hurrah for the canny red heckle,
The heckle that tackled them a'!"
We'll see if the Shaperton lasses
Are winsome, as in our young days -
If they'll rin to the ringin" o' glasses,
Or the lilt o" the auld merry lays.
Oh, we'll shake off the years wi' our laughter,
We'll wash out our wrinkles wi' dew, -
An' reckless o' what may come after,
We'll revel in boyhood anew!
Up, anglers, off wi' each shackle!
Up, gadd an' gaff, an' awa'!
Cry 'Hurrah for the canny red heckle,
The hackle that tackled them a'!
Then back to the smoke and the smother,
The uproar an' crush o' the thrang;
An' back to the labour and pother,
But happy and hearty and strong.
Wi' a braw light o' mountain and muirland,
Out-flashing frae forehead and e'e,
Wi' a blessing flung back to the norland,
An' a thousand, dear Coquet, to thee!
As again we resume the auld shackle,
Our gad an' gaff stowed awa',
An' - goodbye to the canny 'red heckle,'
The heckle that tackled them a'!
