THE AULD BLASTED TREE.
The blasted ash tree that langsyne grew its lane,
Whilk Ramsay has pictured in his pawky strain,
Wi' Bauldy[1] aboon't on the tap o' the knowe,
Glowrin' doon at auld Mause[1] in aneath, spinnin' tow,
Is noo whommilt doon ower the Back Buckie Brae,
Baith helpless, an' lifeless, an' sair crummilt away,
'Mang the bonnie blue speedwell that coortit its beild,
Tho' its scant tap e'en growin' but little could yield.
For years—nigh twa hunner—it markit the spot
Whaur Mause the witch dwalt in her lanely wee cot;
But dour Eichty-sax sent a drivin' snaw blast,
An' the storied link brak 'tween the present an' past.
Tho' in summer 'twas bare, an' had lang tint its charms,
Scarce a leaf e'er was seen on't to hap its grey arms,
Yet it clang to the brae,[2] rockit sair, sair, I ween,
Wi' the loud howlin' winds that blaw doon the Linn Dean.
An' mony a squall warsled at the deid 'oor o' nicht.
When Mause took in her noddle to raise ane for a flicht,
On her auld besom shank, lowin' at the ae en',[3]
That she played sic pranks on when she dwalt i' the glen;
Some alloo she could loup on't clean ower Carlops toon,
Gawn as heich i' the air as Dale wi' his balloon,
Wi' nocht on but her sark an' a white squiny much—
A dress greatly in vogue in thae days wi' a wutch.
But thae fashions, like wutches, hae gane oot o' date
E'en the black bandit squiny has shared the same fate,
The lint-wheels they span on are just keepit for fun,
Or tae let lasses see the wey hand-cloots were spun.
Feint a trace o' the carlin' there's noo left ava—
Her wee hoosie's doon, an' the auld tree an' a',
That waggit ayont it for mony a year
Ere anither bit timmer took thocht to grow here.
A. Farquharson
Lanely Bield (1887?).
EPISTAL TO ALAN REID. EDINBURGH.
1888.
Gin August wiles oot wi' her smile
Auld Reekie's sons when freed frae toil,
There ane' comes here tae bide awhile,
A clever chield;
Ilk place he's paintit in grand style,
E'en oor wee bield.
