The Brig

A poem by Violet Jacob

I whiles gang to the brig-side
That's past the briar tree,
Alang the road when the licht is wide
Owre Angus an' the sea.

In by the dyke yon briar grows
Wi' leaf an' thorn, it's lane
Whaur the spunk o' flame o' the briar rose
Burns saft agin the stane.

An' whiles a step treids on by me,
I mauna hear its fa';
And atween the brig an' the briar tree
Ther gangs na' ane, but twa.

Oot owre yon sea, through dule an' strife,
Ye tak' yer road nae mair,
For ye've crossed the brig to the fields o' life,
An' ye walk for iver there.

I traivel on to the brig-side,
Whaur ilka road maun cease,
My weary war may be lang to bide,
An' you hae won to peace.

There's ne'er a nicht but turns to day,
Nor a load that's niver cast;
An' there's nae wind cries on the winter brae,
But it spends itsel' at last.

O you that niver failed me yet,
Gin aince my step ye hear,
Come to yon brig atween us set,
An' bide till I win near!

O weel, aye, weel, ye'll ken my treid,
Ye'll seek nae word nor sign,
An' I'll no can fail at the Brig o' Dreid,
For yer hand will be in mine.

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