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Best Famous Hoose Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Hoose poems. This is a select list of the best famous Hoose poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Hoose poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of hoose poems.

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Written by Andrew Barton Paterson | Create an image from this poem

Santa Claus in the Bush

 It chanced out back at the Christmas time, 
When the wheat was ripe and tall, 
A stranger rode to the farmer's gate -- 
A sturdy man and a small.
"Rin doon, rin doon, my little son Jack, And bid the stranger stay; And we'll hae a crack for Auld Lang Syne, For the morn is Christmas Day.
" "Nay noo, nay noo," said the dour guidwife, "But ye should let him be; He's maybe only a drover chap Frae the land o' the Darling Pea.
"Wi' a drover's tales, and a drover's thirst To swiggle the hail nicht through; Or he's maybe a life assurance carle To talk ye black and blue," "Guidwife, he's never a drover chap, For their swags are neat and thin; And he's never a life assurance carle, Wi' the brick-dust burnt in his skin.
"Guidwife, guidwife, be nae sae dour, For the wheat stands ripe and tall, And we shore a seven-pound fleece this year, Ewes and weaners and all.
"There is grass tae spare, and the stock are fat.
Where they whiles are gaunt and thin, And we owe a tithe to the travelling poor, So we maun ask him in.
"Ye can set him a chair tae the table side, And gi' him a bite tae eat; An omelette made of a new-laid egg, Or a tasty bit of meat.
" "But the native cats have taen the fowls, They havena left a leg; And he'll get nae omelette at a' Till the emu lays an egg!" "Rin doon, rin doon, my little son Jack, To whaur the emus bide, Ye shall find the auld hen on the nest, While the auld cock sits beside.
"But speak them fair, and speak them saft, Lest they kick ye a fearsome jolt.
Ye can gi' them a feed of thae half-inch nails Or a rusty carriage bolt.
" So little son Jack ran blithely down With the rusty nails in hand, Till he came where the emus fluffed and scratched By their nest in the open sand.
And there he has gathered the new-laid egg -- 'Twould feed three men or four -- And the emus came for the half-inch nails Right up to the settler's door.
"A waste o' food," said the dour guidwife, As she took the egg, with a frown, "But he gets nae meat, unless ye rin A paddy-melon down.
" "Gang oot, gang oot, my little son Jack, Wi' your twa-three doggies sma'; Gin ye come nae back wi' a paddy-melon, Then come nae back at a'.
" So little son Jack he raced and he ran, And he was bare o' the feet, And soon he captured a paddy-melon, Was gorged with the stolen wheat.
"Sit doon, sit doon, my bonny wee man, To the best that the hoose can do -- An omelette made of the emu egg And a paddy-melon stew.
" "'Tis well, 'tis well," said the bonny wee man; "I have eaten the wide world's meat, And the food that is given with right good-will Is the sweetest food to eat.
"But the night draws on to the Christmas Day And I must rise and go, For I have a mighty way to ride To the land of the Esquimaux.
"And it's there I must load my sledges up, With the reindeers four-in-hand, That go to the North, South, East, and West, To every Christian land.
" "Tae the Esquimaux," said the dour guidwife, "Ye suit my husband well!" For when he gets up on his journey horse He's a bit of a liar himsel'.
" Then out with a laugh went the bonny wee man To his old horse grazing nigh, And away like a meteor flash they went Far off to the Northern sky.
When the children woke on the Christmas morn They chattered with might and main -- For a sword and gun had little son Jack, And a braw new doll had Jane, And a packet o' screws had the twa emus; But the dour guidwife gat nane.


Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

The Twa Jocks

 Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska tae Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye:
"That's whit I hate maist aboot fechtin' -- it makes ye sae deevilish dry;
Noo jist hae a keek at yon ferm-hoose them Gairmans are poundin' sae fine,
Weel, think o' it, doon in the dunnie there's bottles and bottles o' wine.
A' hell's fairly belchin' oot yonner, but oh, lad, I'm ettlin' tae try.
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" "If it's poose she'll be with ye whateffer," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.
~ Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: "Whit price fur a funeral wreath? We're dodgin' a' kinds o' destruction, an' jist by the skin o' oor teeth.
Here, spread yersel oot on yer belly, and slither along in the glaur; Confoond ye, ye big Hielan' deevil! Ye don't realize there's a war.
Ye think that ye're back in Dunvegan, and herdin' the wee bits o' kye.
" "She'll neffer trink wine in Dunfegan," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.
~ Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: "Thank goodness! the ferm-hoose at last; There's no muckle left but the cellar, an' even that's vanishin' fast.
Look oot, there's the corpse o' a wumman, sair mangelt and deid by her lane.
Quick! Strike a match.
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Whit did I tell ye! A hale bonny box o' shampane; Jist knock the heid aff o' a bottle.
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Haud on, mon, I'm hearing a cry.
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" "She'll think it's a wean that wass greetin'," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.
~ Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: quot;Ma conscience! I'm hanged but yer richt.
It's yin o' thae waifs of the war-field, a' sobbin' and shakin' wi' fricht.
Wheesht noo, dear, we're no gaun tae hurt ye.
We're takin' ye hame, my wee doo! We've got tae get back wi' her, Hecky.
Whit mercy we didna get fou! We'll no touch a drap o' that likker -- that's hard, man, ye canna deny.
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" "It's the last thing she'll think o' denyin'," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.
Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: "If I should get struck frae the rear, Ye'll tak' and ye'll shield the wee lassie, and rin for the lines like a deer.
God! Wis that the breenge o' a bullet? I'm thinkin' it's cracket ma spine.
I'm doon on ma knees in the glabber; I'm fearin', auld man, I've got mine.
Here, quick! Pit yer erms roon the lassie.
Noo, rin, lad! good luck and good-by.
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"Hoots, mon! it's ye baith she'll be takin'," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.
~ Says Corporal Muckle frae Rannoch: "Is that no' a picture tae frame? Twa sair woundit Jocks wi' a lassie jist like ma wee Jeannie at hame.
We're prood o' ye baith, ma brave heroes.
We'll gie ye a medal, I think.
" Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: "I'd raither ye gied me a drink.
I'll no speak for Private MacCrimmon, but oh, mon, I'm perishin' dry.
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" "She'll wush that Loch Lefen wass whuskey," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.
~

Book: Shattered Sighs