Page:Bennachie budget.pdf/6

 Aberdeenshire donned her armour,

Would not stand outside the door;

Boldly sent a Tenant-Farmer,

Rousing Justice from her snore.

But the man who once had furrowed

Reeskie rig for seanty braird,

Bought the land he sowed an’ harrowed,

So the Tenant turned a Laird,

Must our rights fa’ wi’ the tiller,

And our prospects end in fog?

Must our hopes o’ vested siller

Sink like spunkie i’ the bog?

Mars rushed frae the bracs o’ Learny,

Esculapius Finzean plied;

But a cry frae Mar to Cairnie

Bade the gallant Gordon guide!

Douglas Gordon yet is youthfu’,

But that fault will daily mend;

Like the Gordons, wise and truthfu',

May their God his footsteps fend!

May luis course be long and steady,

Brightly blow the buds of vouth;

Thro lite's stream, may turbid eddy

Ne'er betray a stilled truth!

At Vict’lers’ feast, o’er sparklin’ glass,

Lord Huntly, thanks expressin’,

Declared, that the workin’ class

In Publics found: Blessin’!