The Whale Interviewed by his Mother on his Exploits in the River Tay
(Reconstructed version in period style)

“Oh! why went you there, my son, my son,
Within the range of their banging gun?”
“Fear not, mother, ’twas only a lark,
I reckoned they would shoot wide of the mark.”

“But the boats were many, and bold the men,
And they chased you far from your ocean den;
With harpoons ready and ropes full strong—
What kept you there for a time so long?”

“I rose for air in the wintry day,
And strayed, by chance, up the narrow Tay;
The waters were shallow, the current slow,
And I lingered there for a passing show.”

“O foolish child! did you not perceive
That man is cruel and slow to leave?
He follows and fires with deadly aim—
And counts your life but a sporting game!”

“They fired and shouted from shore and quay,
But little their noise availed on me;
For many a shot went wild and wide,
And splashed in vain by my glossy side.”

“Yet still I fear for your daring play—
You tempted fate in the crowded Tay;
For hunger and greed will drive them on,
Till strength is spent and hope is gone.”

“Then grieve not, mother, nor be dismayed,
For I sported free and was not afraid;
Though oft they missed, they pressed me sore,
And chased me back toward the open shore.”

“Come home, my son, to the deep once more,
And wander no near the treacherous shore;
For rivers are not for such as thee—
But the boundless depths of the open sea.”

The Whale Interviewed by his Mother on his Exploits in the River Tay
(Scots-toned reconstruction)

“Oh! why went you there, my son, my son,
Within the range of their banging gun?”
“Fear not, mother, ’twas only a lark,
I reckoned they would shoot wide of the mark.”

“O bairn, what gars ye wander sae far,
Frae the saut sea depths whaur yer kindred are?
Did ye no ken, wi’ their boats an’ gear,
Man’s aye a foe ye’ve cause tae fear?”

“’Deed, mither dear, I but took a turn,
Up the silty Tay whaur the waters burn;
I thocht nae ill, but to sport an’ play,
An’ watch the folk frae the busy quay.”

“They swarmed like ants on ilka side,
Wi’ ropes an’ guns an’ muckle pride;
But mony a shot gaed skelpin’ bye,
An’ nane cam near tae gar me die.”

“O daft young thing! ye tempt yer fate,
For greedy men lie lang in wait;
Wi’ ilka miss they grow mair keen,
An’ hunt ye hard thro’ sicht an’ sheen.”

“Ay, loud they cried an’ aft they fired,
Yet little skill their aim inspired;
I dived an’ rolled in the murky tide,
An’ left them baffled, sair defied.”

“But mind, my son, the world o’ men—
They’ll chase ye oot an’ back again;
Till strength grows faint an’ hope grows sma’,
An’ cruel hands will end it a’.”

“Then fash nae, mither, for what may be,
I’ve kent the chase an’ I’ve roamed free;
Though near they cam’, I held my way,
An’ turned at last frae the risky Tay.”

“Then bide ye hame in the deep, I pray,
An’ venture nae near the fatal Tay;
For rivers are snares for beasts like thee—
Seek aye the wide, cauld, open sea.”