Page:Elegy on the year eighty-eight.pdf/5

( 5 ) O Reekie's Callants, mourn wi' me!

Your waes, alake! are sair to dree!

O mourn the days—the days o' glee—

Now fled awa'!

I see the tear start i' ilk e'e,

An' sadly fa'!

Ech! mony time, ance on a day,

In cheerie bangs we've ta'en our way,

Ilk birkie keenly bent on play,

Wi' hearts fu' light,

An' for a wee set Care astray,

Far out o' sight!

And whan we reach'd her little dwallin',

Whare toolied birds wi' bloodie talon*,

How kind she met us at the hallin

Led to the ha',

"Gude e'en, gude e'en!" ay loudly bawlin',

An' baikin' law!

Syne what a fyke, an' what a phraisin'!

"The puddin's, bairns, are just in season—

"They're newly made—the kettle's bizzin'—

"Sae dinna fret—

"Mair sappy anes ne'er cross'd your wizzen,

"Altho' I say't!”