Baltic Street

Baltic Street
by Violet Jacob

My dainty lass, lay you the blame
Upon the richtfu heid;
Twas daft ill-luck that bigged yer hame
The wrang side o the Tweed.
Ye hae yer tocher aa complete,
Ye’re bonny as the rose,
But I was born in Baltic Street,
In Baltic Street, Montrose!

Lang syne on mony a waefu nicht,
Hie owre the sea’s distress,
I’ve seen the great airms o the licht
Swing oot frae Scurdyness;
And prood, in sunny simmer blinks,
When land-winds raise and fell,
I’d flee my draigon on the links
Wi callants like mysel.

Oh, Baltic Street is cauld and bare
And mebbe no sae grand,
But ye’ll feel the smell in the caller air
O kippers on the land.
Twixt kirk and street the deid fowk bide,
Their feet towards the sea,
Ill neebours for a new-made bride,
Gin ye come hame wi me.

The steeple shades the kirkyaird grass,
The seamen’s hidden banes,
A dour-like kirk to an English lass
Wha kens but English lanes;
And when the haar, the winter through,
Creeps blind on close and waw
My hame micht get a curse frae you,
Mysel get mebbe twaw.

I’ll up and aff the morn’s morn
To seek some reid-haired quine,
Bauld-herted, strang-nieved, bred and born
In this auld toon o mine.
And oh! for mair I winna greet,
Gin we hae meal and brose,
And a but n ben in Baltic Street,
In Baltic Street, Montrose!