8
An' made a haflin's day. When they had gane
Thro' twa-three fields, the ghaist at length stapp't short,
And grinn't and wav'd his hand.———"Lo! here," quo' he,
Ilk bodles lies that ance to me pertain'd,
O it is little worth whare I ha'e gane!
I g'e it a' to you-mark weel the park,
And now be sure, the yirding o my banes
Dinna mislippen———Oh! remember me!
"Nae mair he said, but whidded out of sight.
Wi' hair on end, and ilka lith and limb,
Quakin' wi' fear, Gibby to find a meith,
Look't about, but neither tree nor buss,
Nor stane could find, thro' a' the snaw spread waste.
Weary at last, he sat him down to sh———te:
"Eh ! this," quo he, “will be a special mark!"
Syne back wi' heart mair happy he returned,
To sleep til fair day light.
To sleep til fair day light. Clear rise the morn,
When Gibby ganting turn'd him to the light,
And something fand, not sav'ry where he lays,
The bed was sh———n and the ghaist was flown.
Edinburgh Printed—PRICE ONE PENNY.
