The Book of Scottish Song/Aikendrum

Aikendrum.

[David Vedder.—First printed anonymously in "The Edinburgh Literary Gazette."]

A warlock cam' to our town,
To our town, the slee loon;
His beard was grey, his cheeks brown,
And he look'd unco glum.
His cloak of Moffat tartan
Hung down beneath his garten,—
He cam' to spae my fortune;—
His name was Aikendrum.

His brow with time was wrinkled,
His hair with grey was sprinkled;
But, oh! his een they twinkled
Whene'er they gazed on me.
Then to the seat he hied him,
My titty had supplied him,—
I sat me down beside him,
Beneath our holly tree.

He took my hand discreetly,
And looked right sedately,
And scann'd it o'er completely,
With monie a haw and hum.
With transport then he seized it,
And to his lips he raised it,
And lovingly he squeezed it—
The gallant Aikendrum.

He slippit aff his grey beard,
His grey beard, his grey beard—
He doffed his cloak—his mask tear'd,
And threw 't ayont the lum;—
Then sweetly he addressd me,
And to his bosom press'd me:
'Twas Jamie that caress'd me!—
It wasna Aikendrum!

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