Sit dune, sit dune, my leil auld man,

Sit dune, and listin to me;

I'll

gar

the hayre stand on yer crown,

And the cauld sweit blind yer e'e.

But tell nae wordis, my gude auld man,

Tell never word again;

Or deire shall be yer courtisye,

And driche and sair yer pain.

'The first leet night, quhan the new moon set, Quhan all was douffe and mirk,

We saddled ouir naigis wi' the moon-fern leif,

And rode fra Kilmerrin kirk.

Some horses ware of the brume-cow framit,

And some of the greine bay tree;

But mine was made of ane humloke schaw,

And a stout stallion was he.

We raide the tod doune on the hill,

The martin on the law;

And we huntyd the hoolet out of brethe,
And forcit him doune to fa.'-

"Quhat guid was that, ye ill womyne? Quhat guid was that to thee?

Ye wald better haif been in yer bed at hame,

Wi' deire littil bairnis and me."-
yer

And aye we raide, and se merrily we raide,
Throw the merkist gloffis of the night;

And we swam the floode, and we darnit the woode,
Till we cam to the Lommond height.

'And quhen we cam to the Lommond height,

Se lythlye we lychtid doune;

And we drank fra the hornis that never grew,

The beer that was never browin.

Then up there raise ane wee wee man,

Franethe the moss-gray stane;

His fece was wan like the collifloure,

For he nouthir had blude nor bane.

'He set ane reid-pipe till his muthe,

And he playit se bonnilye,

Till the gray curlew, and the black-cock, flew To listen his melodye.

• It

rang se sweet through the grein Lommond,

That the nycht-winde lowner blew ;

And it soupit alang the Loch Leven,

And wakinit the white sea-mew.

It rang se sweet through the grein Lommond,

Se sweitly butt and se shill,

That the wezilis laup out of their mouldy holis,

And dancit on the mydnycht hill.

The corby craw cam gledgin near,

The ern gede veeryng bye;

And the troutis laup out of the Leven Loch,
Charmit with the melodye.

• And aye we dancit on the grein Lommond,

Till the dawn on the ocean grew :

Ne wonder I was a weary wycht

Quhan I cam hame to you.'—

"Quhat guid, quhat guid, my weird weird wyfe,

Quhat guid was that to thee?

Ye wald better haif bein in yer bed at hame,

ᎳᎥ yer

deire littil bairnis and me.”

The second nycht, quhan the new moon set,

O'er the roaryng sea we flew;

The cockle-shell our trusty bark,

Our sailis of the grein sea-rue.

"And the bauld windis blew, and the fire-flauchtis flew,

And the sea ran to the skie;

And the thunner it growlit, and the sea-dogs howlit,

As we gaed scouryng bye.

And aye we mountit the sea-green hillis,

Quhill we brushit thro' the cludis of the hevin;

Than sousit dounright like the stern-shot light,

Fra the liftis blue casement driven.

But our taickil stood, and our bark was good,
And se pang was our pearily prowe;
Quhan we culdna speil the brow of the wavis,
We needilit them throu belowe.

As fast as the hail, as fast as the gale,
As fast as the midnycht leme,

We borit the breiste of the burstyng swale,

Or fluffit i' the flotyng faem.