"Knockdhu"

   Ye temperance leaders, cease your strife,
   Since whisky stills are growin’ sae rife,
   For even near the Knock Hill noo,
   Ye’ll get the best o’ "mountain dew".

   If ye’d in moderation taste
   It wadna hairm ye in the least,
   Tae tak’ a drap an’ nae get fu’
   For that just spoils the real Knockdhu.

   Success an’ luck attend the still,
   I’m sure it’s done mair guid than ill,
   Just in the district roon aboot,
   That is the case withoot a doot.

   For roon aboot the auld Knock Hill
   Wark would be slack withoot the still,
   When scarce of meat for coo or soo,
   We get relief doon at Knockdhu.

   There you will get good steady men,
   Tho’ neither bound by pledge nor pen,
   An’ ye will never catch them fu’
   Gang when you like in by Knockdhu.

   O’a’ the glens and straths and bens,
   As I am telt by them that kens,
   O’a’ the blends a’-makin’ noo,
   There’s nane can beat the real Knockdhu.

   The gauger’s come o’ English birth,
   A man o’ truly sterlin worth,
   For as aft’s he tests the sparklin’ dew
   He seldom tastes the real Knockdhu.

   The manager, guid honest chiel,
   There’s few that disna wish him weel,
   For a’ that’s makin’ at Knockdhu,
   He scarcely ever fills his mou’.

Aus „The Islaside Musings“
   von Isa Forrest (1865-1937).