Page:Tibby Fowler (3).pdf/6



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 ween,

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 sorrows tale,

O, haith, it's doubly dear to me.