Slow driftin' wi' the tide,
Deep doon amang the weedy wrack,
Wheer t' scaly fishes glide.

GRANDFATHER
I'd fain lig wi' my kinsfolk,
Fore-elders, brothers, sons,
Wheer t' star-fish shine like twinklin' leets,
An' t' spring-tide watter runs.
T' kirkyard's good for farm-folk,
That ploo an' milk their kye,
But I could sleep maist soondly
Wheer t' ships gan sailin' by.

T' grave is whisht(4) an' foulsome,
But clean is t' saut sea-bed;
Thoo can hark to t' billows dancin'
To t' tune o' t' tide owerhead.
Yon wreaths o' floors i' t' kirkyard
Sean wither an' fade away,
But t' sea-tang wreaths round a droon'd man's head
Will bide while Judgment Day.

Sae fettle(5) my owd blue coble,
I kessen'd her "Mornin' Star,"
An' I'll away through t' offin'
Wheer t' skooals o' mack'rel are.
Thoo can look for my boat i' t' harbour,
When thoo's said thy mornin' psalm;
Mebbe I'll fill my fish-creel full--