The Lass of Ballochmyle (1819)/The Minstrel
For other versions of this work, see The Minstrel ('Keen blaws the wind o'er Donnocht-Head').
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 sheetBe 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 nightWas 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?
Come in, auld carl, I'd steer-my five,I'll make it bleeze a bonnie flame;Your bluid is thin, ye've tint the gate,Ye should na stray sae far frae hame.
Nae hame have I, the minstrel said,Sad party-strife o’erturned my ha’;And, weeping at the eve of life,I wander through a wreath o’ snaw;