Page:Lass of Ballochmyle.pdf/5

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5


THE MINSTREL.

Keen blaws the wind o’er Donnocht-Head,
The snaw drives snellie through the dale;
The Gaber-lunzie tirls my sneck,
And, shivering, tells his waefu' tale.

Cauld is the night O let me in,
And dinna let your rainstrel fa';
And dinna let his winding sheet
Be naething but a wreath o’ snaw.

Full ninety winters hae I seen,
And piped whare gor-oocks whining flew;
And manie a day ye've danced, I ween,
To lilts which from my drone I blew.

My Eppie waked, and soon she cried,
Get up, guidman, and let him in:
For weel ye ken the winter night
Was short when he began his din.

My Eppie's voice, O wow it’s sweet,
Even tho’ she bans and soaulds a wee;
But when it’s tuned to sorrow’s tale,
O, haith, its doubly dear to me?