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Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest Ayin,
Tirling the kirks ; Whyles, in the human bosom pryin,
Unseen thou lurks.
I've heard my reverend Graunie say,
Nod to the moon,
Wi' eldritch croon.
When twilight did my Graunie summon, To say her prayers,
douce, honest woman! Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin,
Wi' eerie drone;
Wi' heavy groan.
Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
Ayont the lough;
Wi' waving sugh.
The cudgel in my nieve did shake; Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, When wi' an eldritch stour, quaick-quaick
Amang the springs, Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake,
On whistling wings,
Let Warlocks grin, an' wither'd hags, Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags, They skim the muirs, an' dizzy crags,
Wi wicked speed; And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,
Owre howkit dead.
Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, May plunge an plunge the kirn in vain ; For, oh! the yellow treasure's taen
By witching skill; An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gaen
As yell's the Bill.
Thence mystic knots mak great abuse, On young Guidman, fond, keen, an' crouse; When the best wark-lume i’ the house,
By cantrip wit, Is instant made no worth a louse,
Just at the bit.
When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, An' float the jinglin icy-boord, Ther Water-kelpies haunt the foord,
By your direction, An' nighted Trav'llers are allur'd,
To their destruction..
An' aft your moss traversing Spunkies Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys
Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry alough he sunk is,
Ne'er mair to rise.
When Masons' mystic word an' grip, In storms an' tempests raise you up, Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,
Or, strange to tell The youngest Brother ye wad whip
Aff straught to hell !
Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, When youthfu? lovers first were pair'd, An' all the soul of love they shar'd,
The raptur'd hour, Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird,
In shady bow'r :
Then you, ye auld, snic-drawing dog! Ye came to Paradise incog. An' play'd on man a cursed brogue,
(Black be your fa!) An' gied the infant warld a shog,
'Maist ruin'd a'.
D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, Ye did present your smoutie phiz
'Mang better fo'k, An' sklented on the man of Uz
Your spitefu' joke?
An' how ye gat him i' your thrally An' brak him out o' house an' hall,
While scabs an' blotches did him gall
Wi' bitter claw,
Was warst ava?
But a' your doings to rehearse,
Down to this time,
In prose or rhyme.
An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin, A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, Some luckless hour will send him linkin,
To your black pit; But, faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin,
An' cheat you yet.
But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben!
Still hae a stake-
Ev'n for your sake!
DEATH AND DYING WORDS
THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE.
An unco mournfu' Tale.
As Mailie, and her lambs thegither,
Wi' glowrin e'en, an' lifted han's, Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's; He saw her days were near-hand ended, But, waes my heart! he could na mend it ! He gaped wide, but naething spak! At length poor Mailie silence brak.
"O thou, whase lamentable face Appears to mourn my woefu' case !