A song written by my great-great-grandfather John Collie, in Banffshire, Scotland, in 1856
THE BLAST OF A WINTRY DAY.
THE cauld blast of winter Is howling o’er the moor; The groves which smiled in summer days, Seem cheerless, lone, and bare. The mellow Warblers of the wood Nae langer chant their lay ; For, oh! it’s a bitter, biting blast, The blast of a wintry day.
Nae mair the wee wild ﬂowers are seen adown the woody vale, Nae mair we feel their balmy breath, Come ﬂoating on the gale; Nor on the mossy mountain sides, Nae mair the lambkins play; For they cower beneath the biting blast, The blast of a Wintry day.
Nae mair upon the grassy bank The shepherd tunes his reed, but shuddering stands behind the bush, Wrapt in his rough-spun plaid. While round him winter wildly howls In terrible array ; And he shrinks to brave the biting blast, The blast of a wintry day.
Nae mair we hear the cushet’s coo The waving woods amang, nae mair we hear the linnet’s lay, nor the milkmaid’s simple sang. Nae mair we hear the humming bee come laden down the brae, for it’s a bitter biting blast, the blast of a wintry day.
Nae mair the loving pair are seen adown the hawthorn shade; the hawthorn now hath lost its charms and the loving pair have fled. For a howling wind from the angry north has filled them with dismay; and the hawthorn shakes its naked boughs to the blast of a wintry day.
Oh give me back the summer days, the gaudy days of yore; that I might sing with joysome glee ‘mongst nature’s harmless choir; and let me muse adown the vale and o’er the mountains stray – for it’s a pure refreshing breeze, the breeze of a summer’s day.
John Collie – lyrics