Isobel Pagan

Isobel Pagan Poems

Isobel Pagan Biography

Isabel Pagan (ca. 1740 – 1821) was a Scottish poet of the Romantic Era. Isobel Pagan was born in 1741, about 4 miles from Nith-head in the Parish of New Cumnock, where she lived until 14 years of age. Lame from birth with a deformed foot, she also had a squint and a large tumour on her side. Unsuited for hard labour she settled in a cottage romantically situated on the banks of the Garpel water, where she made a living by writing verses, singing and opening her cottage as a howff – a meeting place and an unofficial pub where whisky and strong drink was served in a convivial atmosphere. She was in the habit of satirizing in verse those who had offended her. She was noted for her sarcastic wit and was apparently an exceptional singer, often singing her own compositions to the delight of her rustic audience. During the shooting season her howff would be filled with aristocrats who were glad to enjoy a laugh at her humour and to hear her sing. Although never married she had a child by a man called Campbell who deserted her, on the eve of their marriage. Unable to write, the local tailor Gemmell wrote out her verses. Known as Tibbie to her friends she died at the end of 1821 in her 80th year and was buried in the cemetery at Muirkirk. She has been titled Working class poet, as has Christian Milne.)

The Best Poem Of Isobel Pagan

Ca' The Yowes To The Knowes

CA' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My bonnie dearie.

As I gaed down the water side,
There I met my shepherd lad;
He row'd me sweetly in his plaid,
And he ca'd me his dearie.

'Will ye gang down the water side,
And see the waves sae sweetly glide
Beneath the hazels spreading wide?
The moon it shines fu' clearly.'

'I was bred up at nae sic school,
My shepherd lad, to play the fool,
And a' the day to sit in dool,
And naebody to see me.'

'Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet,
Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet,
And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep,
And ye sall be my dearie.'

'If ye'll but stand to what ye've said,
I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad,
And ye may row me in your plaid,
And I sall be your dearie.'

'While waters wimple to the sea,
While day blinks in the lift sae hie,
Till clay-cauld death sall blin' my e'e,
Ye aye sall be my dearie!'

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