The Dugs O' Largs

THE DUGS O' LARGS

Fair warnin', a' ye gather'd here,

If saft o' heart, avert yer ear;

As I recite this legend auld,

O' ghastly deeds an' heroes bauld.

Doon the slopes on Ayrshire's coast,

I tell this tale o' foreign ghosts;

Frae lands aye caulder, they did travel,

Tae sack this toon that's built on gravel.

As moonlicht spray'd upon the shore,

An' fog roll'd up aboot the moor;
An' drinkers drank in Droughy Neebors,

The tide was bringing ruthless raiders.

As midnight chim'd, last orders pour'd,

The clocks surrender'd tae the hour;

Oot at sea, a gang o' deid
,
Row'd the silver waves at speed.

Their backs were drapp'd in wolven fur,

As were their chests, I can concur;

Upon their heids, they were adorn'd
,
Wi' iron-clad helmets, horns upturn'd.

Altho' lang deid, through twist o' fate,

Their hunger burn'd, an' couldnae sate;

Revenge they sought, through twisted sears,

Overdue five hundred years.

Back at the bar, the mood was merry,

The patrons sang as they sunk their be'vy;

An' the barmaids wrestled, nae dainty lassies,

As they wecht away their half-fu' glasses.

Amidst this brawl o' drunken men,

An' fiery maids, turn'd fox an’ hen;
The landlord's glare, as ripe as dung,

As he seized the men wha' wud' be flung.

There sat a man upon a table,

The fellow wha convey'd this fable;

He held a whiskey an' a beer,

As guid' a man as e'er cud' here.

Wi' unbuckled britches an' a missing shoe,

A righteous sinner frae a pauper's pew;

Unkempt hair an' a pungent reek,

Wi’ his lodgings up on Nelson Street.

An' at his feet, his loyal mate,

Curled up aside' the fire's grate;

A black an' white patch o' tiny hound,

His ears alert, tho' he sleepeth’sound.

The man was known frae here tae Troon,

As a glaikit fool an' a raving loon;

Wha's drinkin', he was niver' frugal,

His name was Hamish, his dug ca'd Dougal.

So as beer an' glass were final parted,

The landlord roared, an' the drinkers darted;

Wi' Hamish huckled oot the door,

He headed West towards the shore.

He stagger'd doon aside' the bay,

As Dougal peed his canine way;

An' the cauld fog nipped a'twixt their toes,

There came a sight o'er moonlit glow.

A longboat, sails unfurl'd frae hell,

Was steamin' in on stormy swell;

Aboard, a ghostly vision spied,

Ten deid men, noo' come alive.

They bared their savage weapons high,

An' sang their chant, a Nordic cry;

So wrapped in fear, auld Hamish froze,

Then muttered prayers thru' fouter'd prose.

The monstrous horde climbed aff their boat,

An' made their way tae cut his throat;
Noo' sober Hamish, wi' the drink dispell'd,

Cleared his throat an' feart' he yelled.

“Get back, ye ghouls!” cried wantwit' Hamish,

For he hud' nae sense or tongue o' Danish;

As the phantom crew, wi' murder sought,

Advanced tae kill, or so he thought.

Frae brambled bush on harbour path,

Wee Dougal sprung in leap o’ wrath;
He stood atween' his master's feet,

An' viewed those demons as tho' meat.

He arched his back an' raised his jowl,

An' summon'd up a wretched growl;

Then let loose wi' a high-pitched bark
,
That'd scare the night, tae light frae dark.

The Vikings sudden stopp'd right dead,
Dropp’d' their weapons, turn’d an’ fled;
Screamin' as they launched tae sea,
But how did Dougal stop their spree?

Those sailors, mony years afore,

Laid fiery waste tae Largs fine shores;

But a' didnae leave thon' time, ye see,

The year o' this, 1263.

As that battle raged an' was almost done,

An' the toon o' Largs near o'er-run;

Unlikely heroes o' that fight
,
Came tae aid their masters' plight.

They came fae' hill an' wood and hame,
Or ere' else where they happen'd layin’
Wi’ oot' a thocht' they joined their clan,
and stood atween' their cherished man.

The dugs o' Largs were nae afraid,

Showed their worth an' stopp'd that raid;

An' bravely chased as Vikings ran,

Then stood firm barkin' frae the sand.

As Norsemen scrambled tae their fleet,
There wisnae' room for a' tae seat;
So men went doon' wi' lagan toast,
Laid derelict aff'' Ayrshires coast.

These drookit' souls nae laid tae rest,
Wud' rise aince’ mair' on dark request;
When ancient sages cast their runes,
Berserkers woke frae water'd tome’s.

But a' that time they laid in state,
Their fear o' dugs did nae abate;
Five centuries aff' Cumbrae's deep,
Wud' haunt their dreams in hellish sleep.

So when they land'd on the shore,
A second time thru' ghoulish lore;
And saw wee Dougal standing brave,
They ran straight back tae salty grave.

So noo' the folks o' Largs are canny,
Tae fill the toon wi breeds o’ many;
An woe betide the nyaff' who says,
They dinnae' care for tending strays.

That's why a' dugs are welcome now,

Descendants o' those brave auld hounds;
Who saved a toon an' Vikings spurn'd,

Wha' even deid’ wud’ nae' return.

NOTES - Information that may help if any confusion - feel free to ask if there is anything else

Title - 'The Dugs O' Largs' - The Dogs of Largs. The Town of Largs is on the West coast of Scotland in Ayrshire. The cover picture is on the shore front of Largs of a statue commemorating the Battle of 1263 with the Vikings. The events of the poem take place 500 years after this so around 1763 within the lifetime of Burns. The dog in the picture is my beautiful gentle much loved Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Nickel, who recently passed away. RIP

S1 - ' 'saft' - soft 'Bauld' - Bold
S2 -The name Largs in Gaelic translates as 'The Slopes' and it was said to be built on gravel. 'Caulder' - Colder. 'Toon' - Town
S2 - The town was regularly raided by Vikings in the middle ages - A historical battle defeating the Vikings was fought in Largs in 1263
S3 - Droughy Neebers is a pub in Largs near the shore and is over 130 years old
S3 - Droughy Neebers is a famous line in the Burns Poem Tam O'Shanter
S4 - The Scots Ayrshire accent for Pour would sound like 'Power' (so it does rhyme with hour) Clocks 'surrender' to midnight refers to both 'hands' on a traditional clockface pointing (being held) straight up.
S6 - 'sate' - satisfy
S7 - 'Bevy' - Alcoholic Beveridge 'Wecht' - move/pulled through the air with whizzing sound 'fu' - full
S8 - 'Wha' - Who
S9 - 'Guid' - Good
S12 - 'Glaikit' - Stupid/Foolish. 'Niver' - Never
S13 - 'Huckled' - forcibly restrained
S16 - Foutered - fumbled
S17 - 'Feart' - scared/frightened
S18 - 'Wantwit' - lacking wit or common sense
S22 - 'Mony' - many
S26 - 'Went doon wi' lagan toast'. - Lagan is a nautical term referring to salvage that sinks to the bottom of the sea. So The men went down, 'drowned' with a lagan toast - toast as in a 'raised glass in honour' - so put with lagan I infer its the opposite - so went down. The word derelict in the last line of the stanza is also a nautical term for salvage which means salvage sinks and is not recoverable
S27 - 'drookit' - soaking wet. 'aince mair' - once more
S28 - 'Cumbrae' -an island just off the coast of Largs
S30 - 'Canny' - Clever/careful 'Nyaff'' - stupid/irritating person