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XIII
Late in the nicht in bed I lay,
The winds were at their weary play,
An' tirlin' wa's an' skirlin' wae
Through Heev'n they battered;—
On-ding o' hail, on-blaff o' spray,
The tempest blattered.
The masoned house it dinled through;
It dung the ship, it cowped the coo';
The rankit aiks it overthrew,
Had braved a' weathers;
The Strang sea-gleds it took an' blew
Awa' like feathers.
