To  scaud  poor  wretches  !

Hear  me,  auld  Hangie,  for  a  wee.
An'  let  poor  damned  bodies  be  ;
Vm  sure  sma'  pleasure  it  can  gie.
E'en  to  a  deil.
To  skelp  an'  scaud  poor  dogs  like  me,

An'  hear  us  squeel  !

Great  is  thy  power,  an'  great  thy  fame  ;
Far  kend  and  noted  is  thy  name  ; '
An'  tho'  yon  lowin  heugh's  thy  hame.
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'  comers  tryin  ;
Whyles  on  the  strong- wing'd  tempest  flyin,

Tirling  the  kirks ;
Whyles,  in  the  human  bosom  pryin.
Unseen  thou  lurks.
I  've  heard  my  reverend  Graunie  say,
In  lanely  glens  ye  like  to  stray  ;
Or  where  auld-ruin'd  castles,  gray.
Nod  to  the  moon.
Ye  fright  the  nightly  wanderer's  way,

Wi*  eldritch  croon.
When  twilight  did  my  Graunie  summon.
To  say  her  prayers,  douce,  honest  woman  I
Aft  yont  the  dyke  she's  heard  you  bummin,

Wi'  eerie  drone  ;
Or,  rustlin'  thro'  the  boortries  comin,

Wi'  heavy  groan.
Ae  dreary,  wimly,  winter  night,

The  stars  shot  down  wi'  sklentin  light,

Wi'  you,  mysel,  I  gat  a  fright,

Ayont  the  lough  ;
Ye,  like  a  rash-bush  stood  in  sight,

Wi'  waving  augh.
The  cudgel  in  my  nieve  did  shake.
Each  bristled  hair  stood  like  a  stiUte,
When  wi'  an  eldritch  stour,  quaick — quaick-

Amang  the  springs,
Awa  ye  squatter'd,  like  a  drake,

On  whistling  wings.
Let  warlocks  grim,  an*  wither'd  hags,
Tell  how  wi'  you  on  ragweed  nags,
They  skim  the  muirs,  an'  dizzy  crags,

Wi'  wicked  speed ;
And  in  kirk-yards  renew  their  leagues,

Owre  howkit  dead.
