Violet Jacob’s Hallowe’en text

The tattie-liftin’s nearly through,

They’re ploughin’ whaur the barley grew,

    And aifter dark, roond ilka stack,

    Ye’ll see the horsemen stand an’ crack

O Lachlan, but I mind o’ you!

I mind foo often we hae seen

Ten thoosand stars keek doon atween

    The nakit branches, an’ below

    Baith fairm an’ bothie hae their show,

Alowe wi’ lichts o’ Hallowe’en.

There’s bairns wi’ guizards at their tail

Cloorin’ the doors wi’ runts o’ kail,

    And fine ye’ll hear the screichs an’ skirls

    O’ lassies wi’ their droukit curls

Bobbin’ for aipples i’ the pail.

The bothie fire is loupin’ het,

A new heid horseman’s kist is set

    Richt’s o’ the lum; whaur by the blaze

    The auld ane stude that kept yer claes—

I canna thole to see it yet!

But gin the auld fowks’ tales are richt

An ghaists come hame on Hallow nicht,

    O freend o’ friends! what wad I gie

    To feel ye rax yer hand to me

Atween the dark an’ caun’le licht?

Awa’ in France, across the wave,

The wee lichts burn on ilka grave,

    An’ you an’ me their lowe hae seen—

    Ye’ll mebbe hae yer Hallowe’en

Yont, whaur ye’re lyin’ wi’ the lave.

There’s drink an’ daffin’, sang an’ dance

And ploys and kisses get their chance,

    But Lachlan, man, the place I see

    Is whaur the auld kist used tae be

And the lichts o’ Hallowe’en in France!

Literal Translation

The potato-lifting’s nearly through,

They’re plowing where the barley grew,

    And after dark, round every stack,

    You’ll see the horsemen stand and hold,

O Lachlan, but I think of you!

I think how often we have seen

Ten thousand stars peek down between

    The naked branches, and below

    Both farm and shelter have their show,

Ablaze with lights of Hallowe’en.

There’s kids with mummers at their tail

Scratching the doors with stalks  of kale,

    And fine you’ll hear the shrieks and screams

    Of girls with their drowned curls

Bobbing for apples in the pail.

The shelter fire is leaping hot,

A new head horseman’s trunk is set

    Right of the chimney; whither by the blaze

    The old one stood that kept your clothes—

I can’t bear to see it yet!

But if the old folks’ tales are right

And ghosts come home on Hallowe’en night,

    O friend, o’ friends! what would I give

    To feel you raise your hand to me

Between the dark and candle light?

Away in France, across the wave,

The small lights burn on every grave,

    And  you and me their flame have seen—

    You’ll maybe have your Hallowe’en

Yonder, where you’re lying with the others.

There’s drink and flirting, song and dance

And ploys and kisses get their chance,

    But Lachlan, man, the place I see

    Is where the old trunk used to be

And the lights of Hallowe’en in France!