Page:Battle of Prestonpans (3).pdf/7

 And mony a day ye’ve dane’d I ween,

To ilts 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 hạith 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 int you ga’e,

You should na stray spe 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.

’Twas on a Monday mor ing,

Right early in the year

That Charlie came to our town,

The young Chevalier.