For mony a beast to dead she shot, It was her best, and she was vauntie.- But here my muse her wing maun cour; And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main : Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, As As open pussie's mortal foes, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow. Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! Ae It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream.-It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain grey tail: The carlin claught her by the rump, Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, ON ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME Which a Fellow had just shot at. INHUMAN man! curse on thy barb'rous art, Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, The bitter little that of life remains: No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 5 Seek, Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, No more of rest, but now thy dying bed! The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait less fate. ADDRESS |