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Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin,
Tirling the kirks;

Whyles, in the human bosom pryin,
Unseen thou lurks.

I've heard my reverend Graunie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or where auld-ruin'd castles, gray,
Nod to the moon,

Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way,
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;

Or, rustlin, thro' the boortries comin,

Wi' heavy groan.

Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light,
Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright,

Ayont the lough;

Ye, like a rash-bush stood in sight,

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 grim, 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,

Then 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 slough 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 thrall, An' brak him out o' house an' hall,

While scabs an' blotches did him gall

Wi' bitter claw,

An' lows'd his ill tongu'd, wicked Scawl,
Was warst ava?

But a' your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce,
Sin' that day Michael* did you pierce,

Down to this time,

Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse,

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!
O wad ye tak a thought an' men'!
Ye aiblins might-I dinna ken-

Still hae a stake

I'm wae to think upo' yon den,

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An unco mournfu' Tale.

As Mailie, and her lambs thegither,
Were ae day nibbling on the tether,
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch,
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch:
There, groaning, dying, she did lie,
When Hughoc he cam doytin by.

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!

A neibor, herd callan.

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