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Keen blaws the wind o'er Donnocht-Head, The snaw drives snellie thro' the dale; The Gaberlunzie tirls my sneck, And shivering, tells his waefu' tale.

Cauld is the night, O let me in, And dinna let your minstrel fa'; And dinna let his winding sheet Be naething but a wreath o' snaw.

Full ninety winters hae I seen, And pip'd whar gor-cocks whirring flew, And mony a day ye've danc'd I've seen, To lilts which from my drone I blew.

My Eppie wak'd, and soon she cried, Get up, gudeman, and let him in; For weel ye ken the winter nights Seem'd 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 tun'd to sorrow's tale, O, haith, it's doubly dear to me.