THE HARRYING
Had she been less fair we might let her be!But she wiles our men as the white moon wiles Or the will-o-the-wisp that rides the fen,And takes them wanderin' miles an' miles— This is her way with our foolish men!
Sandy followed the hare last e'enIn and out the October stooks, And all the day by the cattle byreSandy goes with his drookit looks, And eyes that burn like a kiln fire.
Take the spurtles! Come, guid wives a'!Her cot lies hid in the bracken reach, Let us drive her down to the grey North Sea;The cauld North Sea on the barren beach, Till it shall prove whether witch she be!
Let lame Jean come! She has wisdom rare.Let Nancy come who has wept full sore, For Alec it was who brought the broom,In gold bouquet for her cottage-door, And the honeyed heather bloom.
