Classic Poem

Horo, once more I'd tune up merrily,
before I go to bed, oho;
horo once more I'd tune up merrily!

Let us raise a tune to waulk the tweed web;
we will have music and songs of merit.
Horo, once more &c.

Tweed would improve by touch of damsels,
who, with their hands, would do the fulling.

As they turn it on a fulling frame,
their din was heard, each of them speaking.

Well-turned songs, melodious, sweet,
have the maidens for recital.

Cheery, diligent and helpful,
while waulking cloth they sing a chorus.

We'd sing an air tunefully, gaily,
for the tweed of costliest colours;

the tweed of varied tints, checked, handsome,
of stripy pattern, banded, radiant;

delightful tweed, mottled, gleaming,
glinting, diced and wide of measure.

May those sheep thrive healthily,
on which grew the lordly fabric.

A blessing on the hand that spun it:
hers was the act of the good housewife.

Indeed 'tis the silk it resembles:
she left it smooth and well she wrought it.

Thread as tough as strings of fiddle,
and even as could be fashioned.

It had no knurl, lump or contraction,
thinner stretch or stouter section.

When the tweed goes to the market,
what cash it will raise on the journey!

No yard of it will fetch less than a crown;
'tis the desire of all eyes at the fair.

There will be no wooer in the land,
but will hope to get a length of it.

Truly the folk who will wear it
will have joy in their apparel.

I'd raise the tune the tippler called for,
and waulk the tweed desired by women.

'Tis ill work waulking or fulling,
if we are hoarse with thirstiness.

It would put young folk in good humour,
to sit round a table, till dawn, drinking

punch, with glasses fully charged,
while the toasts are being honoured.

A spell at wine, a spell at brandy,
and a spell with drams of whisky.

A spell of fiddling and of dancing,
of sing-song and making merry.

When dizziness mounts to the forehead,
'tis time enough for folk to lie down.