The Battle of Prestonpans (1824, Stirling)/The Minstrel

by Anonymous

For other versions of this work, see The Minstrel.

THE MINSTRAL.

Keen blaws the wind o'er Donnacht-head,
The snaw rives drives snellie thro' the dale;
The Gaberlunzie (illegible text)irls my seeck
And, shiv ri g tells his warfu' tale.

Cauld is the sight, let me in
A dinne let your minstrel fa',
And di na let is his winning sheet
Be sae hi g but a wreath o' snaw

Full (illegible text)ninety winters seen
And pip'd whar gor-cocks whirring flew,
And mony a day ye've danc'd I ween,
To iilts which from my drone I blew.

My Eppie wak'd, and soon she cried,
Get up gudeman, and let him in;
For we-l ye ken, the winter night,
Was short when he began his din.

My Eppie's voice, O wow it's sweet,
E'en tho she bans and scaulds a wee;
But when it's turned to sorrow's tale,
O haith it's doubly dear to me.

Come in, auld carl I'll steer my fire,
I'll mak it steer a bonny flame;
Your bluid is this ye've (illegible text)int you ga'e,
You should na stray sae far free hame,

Nae hame have I, the minstrel said,
Sae party-strife o'erturned my ha';
And weeping, at the eve of life,
I wander through a wreath of snaw.

---