The Book of Scottish Song/The Curler's Song

The Curler's Song.

[Air, "Cauld kail in Aberdeen."]

Whan chittering birds, on flicht'ring wing,
⁠About the barn doors mingle,
And biting frost, and cranreuch cauld,
⁠Drive coofs around the ingle;
Then to the loch the curlers hie,
⁠Their hearts as light's a feather,
And mark the tee wi' mirth and glee,
⁠In cauld, cauld, frosty weather.

Our buirdly leaders down white ice,
⁠Their whinstones doure send snooving,
And birks and brooms ply hard before,
⁠When o'er the hog-score moving;
Till cheek by jowl within the brugh,
⁠They're laid 'side ane anither,
Then round the tee we flock wi' glee,
⁠In cauld, cauld, frosty weather.

Wi' canny hand they neist play down,
⁠Their stanes o' glibber metal;
Yet bunkers aftrn send aglee,
⁠Although they weel did ettle.
"Now strike—no—draw—come fill the port,"
⁠They roar, and cry, and blether;
As round the tee we flock wi' glee,
⁠In cauld, cauld, frosty weather.

A stalwart chiel, to redd the ice,
Drives roaring down like thunder;
Wi' awfu' crash the double guards
At ance are burst asunder;
Rip raping on frae random wicks
The winner gets a yether;
Then round the tee we flock wi' glee,
In cauld, cauld, frosty weather.

Our chief, whase skill and steady arm,
⁠Gain mony a bonspeil dinner,
Cries, "Open wide—stand off behind,
⁠Fy, John, fy, show the winner;
He goes—he moves—he rides him out
⁠The length of ony tether,"
Huzzas wi' glee rise round the tee,
⁠In cauld, cauld, frosty, weather.

But now the moon glints through the mist,
⁠The wind blaws snell and freezing,
When straight we bicker aff in haste
⁠To whare the ingle's bleezing,
In Curler Ha', sae bein and snug,
⁠About the board we gather
Wi'mirth and glee, sirloin the tee,
⁠In cauld, cauld, frosty weather.

In canty cracks, and sangs and jokes,
⁠The night drives on wi' daffin',
And mony a kittle shot is ta'en,
⁠While we're the toddy quaffing.
Wi' heavy heart we're laith to part,
⁠But promise to forgether
Around the tee neist morn wi' glee,
⁠In cauld, cauld, frosty weather.

---