SCOTIA'S TOWSY TYKE. 



I ken the terrier o' the North, 



I ken the towsy tyke ; 

 Ye'll search fra Tweed to Sussex' shore, 



But never find his like 



For pluck and pith, and jaw and teeth, 



And hair,like heather cowes, 

 ^Yi' body lang and low and Strang, 



At hame in cairns or knowes. 



He'll face a foumert, draw a brock, 



Kill rats and whiterits by the score ; 

 He'll bang tod-lowrie frae his hole, 



Or stay him at his door. 



He'll range for days, and ne'er be tired. 



O'er mountain, moor or fell ; 

 Fair play, I'll back the brave wee chap 



To fecht the de'il himsel'. 



And yet beneath his rugged coat 



A heart beats warm and true ; 

 He'll help to herd the sheep and kye. 



And mind the lammies, too. 



Then see him at the ingle side, 



^Vith bairnies roond him lauchin' ; 

 Was ever dog sae pleased as he, 



Sae fond o' fun and daffin' .'' 



But gie's your hand, my Hielan' man, 



Guid faith ! we maunna sever ; 

 Then, " Here's to Scotia's best o' dogs, 



Oor towsy tyke for ever." 



(Gordon Stables, M. I). 



