Naething Dauntit is the title of The Collected Poems of Douglas Young (1913-1973).

Edited by Emma Dymock (Humming Earth, £35), this hardback will reinforce his reputation.

FOR THE OLD HIGHLANDS
That old lonely lovely way of living
in Highland places, - twenty years a-growing,
twenty years flowering, twenty years declining, -
father to son, mother to daughter giving
ripe tradition; peaceful bounty flowing;
one harmony all tones of life combining, -
old wise ways, passed like the dust blowing.

~

That harmony of folk and land is shattered, -
the yearly rhythm of things, the social graces,
peat-fire and music, candle-light and kindness.
Now they are gone it seems they never mattered,
much, to the world, those proud and violent races,
clansmen, and chiefs whose passioned greed and blindness
made desolate these lovely lonely places.

LAST LAUCH
The Minister said it wad dee,
the cypress buss I plantit.
But the buss grew til a tree,
naething dauntit.

~

Hit’s growan stark and heich,
derk and straucht and sinister,
kirkyairdie-like and dreich.
But whaur’s the Minister?