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The reike flew up in the auld manis face,

And choukit him bitterlye;

And the lowe cam up

with ane angry blese,

And it syngit his auld breek-nee.

He lukit to the land fra whence he came,

For lukis he culde get ne mae ;

And he thochte of his deire littil bairnis at hame,

And O the auld man was wae!

But they turnit their facis to the sun,
With gloffe and wonderous glair,
For they saw ane thing beth lairge and dun,
Comin swaipin down the aire.

That burd it cam fra the landis o' Fife,

And it cam rycht tymeouslye,

For quha was it but the auld manis wife,

Just comit his dethe to see.

Scho pat ane reide cap on his heide,

And the auld gudeman lookit fain, Then whisperit ane word intil his lug, And tovit to the aire again.

The auld gudeman he gae ane bob
I' the mids o' the burnyng løwe;
And the sheklis that band him to the ring,
They fell fra his armis like towe.

He drew his breath, and he said the word,
And he said it with muckle glee,
Then set his fit on the burnyng pile,
And away to the aire flew he.

Till aince he cleirit the swirlyng reike,
He lukit beth ferit and sad;

But whan he wan to the lycht blue aire,

He lauchit as he'd been mad.

His armis war spred, and his heide was hiche,

And his feite stack out behynde;

And the laibies of the auld manis cote

War wauffyng in the wynde.

And aye he neicherit, and aye he flew,
For he thochte the ploy se raire ;
It was like the voice of the gainder blue,
Whan he flees throu the aire.

He lukit back to the Carlisle men
As he borit the norlan sky;

He noddit his heide, and gae ane girn,
But he nevir said gude-bye.

They vanisht far i' the liftis blue wale,

Ne maire the English saw,

But the auld manis lauche cam on the gale,

With a lang and a loud gaffa.

May everilke man in the land of Fife

Read what the drinkeris dree; And nevir curse his puir auld wife, Rychte wicked altho scho be.

When ceased the minstrel's crazy song,
His heedful glance embraced the throng,
And found the smile of free delight
Dimpling the cheeks of ladies bright.
Ah! never yet was bard unmoved,
When beauty smiled or birth approved!
For though his song he holds at nought—
"An idle strain! a passing thought!"
Child of the soul! 'tis held more dear

Than aught by mortals valued here.

His

When Leven's bard the Court had viewed,

eye, his vigour, was renewed. No, not the evening's closing eye, Veiled in the rainbow's deepest dye,

By summer breezes lulled to rest,

Cradled on Leven's silver breast,

Or slumbering on the distant sea,
Imparted sweeter ecstacy.

Nor even the angel of the night, Kindling his holy sphere of light, Afar upon the heaving deep,

To light a world of peaceful sleep, Though in her beam night-spirits glanced,

And lovely fays in circles danced,

Or rank by rank rode lightly bye,

Was sweeter to our minstrel's eye.

Unheard the bird of morning crew; Unheard the breeze of Ocean blew ; The night unweened had passed away,

And dawning ushered in the day.

The Queen's young maids, of cherub hue,

Aside the silken curtains drew,

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