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John Horne Index Other Caithness Poets

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John Horne

I lo'e our rocky bay in winter's whirlin' day
When it's waters are a'tossin' an' foamin';
Oh, thrillin' is it's roar as it spreads along the shore
Wi' it's waves tumblin' white in the gloamin'!

Then dinna speak till me o' sichts ayont the sea,
Or o' cities wi' their croods crush'd an' groanin' -
My heart it wanna warm till ony ither charm
As till Wick when it lies in the gloamin!

Alang the Riverside it has aye been my pride,
Wi' thochts deep an' grave till gang a-roamin'
The settin' sun sae bricht, fillin' a' the stretch wi' licht,
An' stealin' gently o'er me in the gloamin.

Ooor ruined castles gran' - hoo lonesomely they stan'
Wi' the win' whistlin' roon them an' moanin'
Oh, touchin' is the scene wi' the dyin' glints atween
As the day dies awa in the gloamin.