The north wind was vicious and the sunlight was feeble and cold. Algy didn’t feel like getting up in the morning, but the days were much too short now to be wasted. So he fluffed up his feathers and flew down to the sea with a book of poetry under his wing. Tucked into a sheltered corner among the rocks, Algy read happily in the cool light reflecting off the water all around him, listening to the sounds of the Sea of the Hebrides (audio post below) as the wind drove the waves spitting and surging onto the beach beside him.
Cauld blows the wind frae north to south,
And drift is driving sairly ;
The sheep are couring in the heugh,
Oh sirs! it’s winter fairly.
Now up in the morning’s no’ for me,
Up in the morning early ;
I’d rather gae supperless to my bed,
Than rise in the morning early.
Loud rairs the blast amang the woods,
The branches tirling barely,
Amang the chimley taps it thuds,
And frost is nippin sairly.
Now up in the morning’s no’ for me,
Up in the morning early ;
To sit a’ the night I’d rather agree,
Than rise in the morning early.
The sun peeps o’er the southlan’ hill,
Like ony tim’rous carlie;
Just blinks a wee, then sinks again,
And that we find severely.
Now up in the morning’s no’ for me,
Up in the morning early ;
When snaw blaws into the chimley cheek,
Wha’d rise in the morning early.
Nae linties lilt on hedge or bush,
Poor things, they suffer sairly ;
In cauldrife quarters a’ the night,
A’ day they feed but sparely.
Now up in the morning’s no’ for me,
Up in the morning early ;
Nae fate can be waur, in winter time,
Than rise in the morning early.
[Algy is reading Cold Blows The Wind, a lesser-known Scots poem by John Hamilton, published in Walter de la Mare’s anthology Come Hither.]
The Adventures of Algy 