To skelp an scaud poor dogs like me,

An hear us squeel.

Great is thy pow’r an great thy fame;

Far kend an noted is thy name;

An tho yon lowin heugh’s thy hame, flaming, hollow

Thou travels far;

An faith! thou’s neither lag, nor lame,

Nor blate, nor scaur.

Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion,

For prey, a’ holes an corners trying,

Whyles, on the strong-wing’d tempest flyin

Tirlin the kirks;

Whyles, in the human bosom pryin,

Unseen thou lurks.

I’ve heard my revrend graunie say,

In lanely glens ye like to stray:

Or, where auld ruin’d castles grey

Nod to the moon,

Ye fright the nightly wand’rees way,

Wi eldritch croon.

When twilight did my graunie summon,

To say her pray’rs, douce, honest woman!

Aft yont the dyke she’s heard you bummin,

Wi eerie drone;

Or, rustlin, thro the boortrees cornin,

Wi heavy groan.

Ae dreary, windy, winter night,

The stars shot down wi sklentin light,

Wi you mysel, I gat a fright:

Ayont the lough;

Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight,

Wi waving sugh.

The cudgel in my nieve did shake,

Each bristl’d hair stood like a stake;

When wi an eldritch, stoor ‘quaick, quaick,’

Amang the springs,

Awa ye squatteed like a drake,

On whistling wings.

Let warlocks grim, an wither’d hags,

Tell how wi you, on ragweed nags, ragwort

They skim the muirs an dizzy crags,

Wi wicked speed;

And in kirkyards renew their leagues,

Owre howkit dead.

Thence, countra wives, wi toil an pain,

May plunge an plunge the kirn in vain;

For O! the yellow treasure’s taen

By witching skill;

An dawtit, twal-pint hawkie’s gaen

As yell’s the bill.

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse

On young guidmen, fond, keen an croose;

When the best wark-lume i’the house,

By cantraip wit,

Is instant made no worth a louse,

Just at the bit.

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,

An float the linglin icy boord,

Then, water-kilpies haunt the foord,

By your direction,

An ’nighted trav’llers are allued

To their destruction.

And aft your moss-traversing spunkles

Decoy the wight that late an drunk is:

The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkles

Delude his eyes,

Till in some miry slough he sunk is,

Ne’er mair to rise.

When Mason’s mystic word an grip

In storms an tempests raise you up,

Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,

Or, strange to tell!

The youngest brother ye wad whip

Aff straught to Hell.

Lang syne in Eden’s bonie yard,

When youthfu lovers first were pair’d,

An all the soul of love they shar’d

The raptur’d hour,

Sweet on the fragrant flow’ry swaird,

In shady bow’r:

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog!

Ye came to Paradise incog,

An play’d on man a cursed brogue,

(Black be your fa’!)

An gied the infant warld a shog,

’Maist ruin’d a’.

D’ye mind that day when in a bizz

Wi reekit duds, an reestit gizz,

Ye did present your smoutie phiz

’Mang better folk,

An sklented on the man of Uzz