5
"But ho!" mair shrillie cried the boy,
With eye on lordlie grave;
"Come forth thou perjur’d laird o’ Pert,
Thy name it winna save!
"Not all thy gifts to hallie kirke,
Or alms thou didst bestow,
Will lay the clouds o’ sin an’ shame
That round thy mem’ric flow!"
On this ane grizzlie form appear’d,
An’ frae the kirke wa’ hied—
"Ah! there’s the murd’rons laird o’ Pert!"
The laddie tremblin' cried.
The hoarie sprite was mate, au’ fain
Wad flown to whence it came;
But aye’s it near'd the darksome grave,
There rose a smoth’rin’ flame;
An’ by that flame, frae hallie kirk
The laird’s rich gifts were thrown;
While sprites of ancient kith an’ kin,
Thus sang in waefu’ tone—
"Sin’ Heav'n denies thee an’ thy wealth,
Sae surelie too shall we:
For thoch thou be our ain brither,
We hate all perjurie!
"An’ frae our fam’lie tomb for aye,
