Page:Bennachie budget.pdf/5

 While swinish drunkards, roll in slime,

An’ stain our land wi’ blood an’ crime,

While poison, wasting manhood’s prime,

Frae fat an’ still flows free;

Let Temp’rance all lier sons combine,

While poison's streams turn men to swine,

An’, firm, resolve through aid Divine,

To stap the flood’s Wall-e’e!

Aberdeenshire, height an’ hallow,

Needs a fouth o farmin’brain;

Here the soil is deep-there shallow—

This cries rench, an’ that cries drain.

Yet, when Harvest waves her tresses,

Scatt’rin’ gowd o’er Gerrie’s lands,

Aberdeen the prospect blesses—

There her well-pang'd Girnal stands!

Wonderfu’ the change on Buchan,

Since the fires in Bruce’s day!

Slowly grew the tree an’ clachan,

Marking Labour’s toilsome way.

Farms extended-rents were doubled—

Planting rose in stately ranks;

Till the game, in funz untroubled,

Swarmed in hills an’ sandy banks.

First the land was let for labour,

Then the same was let for game,

Till this “begg’rin’ o’ my neighbour”

Gart Conservatives cry “shame!”

Farmers aft to London tredgin’,

Cried—“Preserve us frue this game!”

But the Culprits ruled the judgin’,

And ignored the Plaintiffs’ claim.