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The land wherein the laurel waves,
Was never meant to nourish slaves,
Then onward to your bloody graves,
Or live like Garibaldi!

What soul but scorns the crouching slave,-
O liberty is for the brave,
Your cry be, Freedom or the grave,
And on with Garibaldi!


Some say there's nae witches ava'

That its a' but an auld world dream, Or that they've been frightened away',

By science, by knowledge and steam; Some say sic a thing canna be,

As selling anes sel to Mahoun, But ye've only to listen to me,

And the story o' auld Granny Broun.

O she was a grusome auld dame,

And she houiFd by the Locher's loud fa', Ye coudna just ca' it her hame,

For Granny was often awa'; She'd talk o' the planets, I vow!

And show you the way they swing roun'; There's few been as near them I trow,

As that auld wrinkled witch Granny Broun.

As sure's there was wreck in the Firth,
Auld Granny was aff frae her hame,

She was riding the clouds in her mirth,

Or lashing the sea into faem; Her howe voice the fishermen kent,

Which the winds and the waves coudna droun; But they durstna gie ill wishes vent,

On the wicked auld witch Granny Broun.

And when in a seive she would float,

On the dark gurly ocean her lane,
She was sure to coup some hapless boat,

And mak aff for the hills o' Spain;
She was out a' that wild windy night,

When the bell in the steeple fell doun, For the session had wakened the spite—

And the dander o' auld Granny Broun.

And when she would take to the shape

O' a pyat and flee o'er the kirk—
The session was sure o' a scrape—

Some awfu' sculduddery work;
And when there was death in the cup,

She would come like a dog and cour down,
In terror the kimmers looked up,

For they kent it was auld Granny Broun.

Her man gaed to skin and to bane,

Wi' her changing him into a mare, For saddled wi' bridle and rein,

She rode him a' nicht through the air. When anld Sturdy's mare took a fricht,

And ran till it ran itsel doun, Wha think ye was ridin't a' nicht,

But the Deevil and auld Granny Broun.

And to it auld Sturdy would stick,

That he saw the queer couple astride, Noo grip to my tail quoth auld Nick,

And my certie but we'll hae a ride. He followed through moor and through dale,

And chased them the Hie-Craig aroun, But he only could see the mare's tail,

And the nicht-mutch o' auld Granny Broun.

And didna Kate Clurie ae nicht,

Catch her playing at cards wi' the Deil,

By the time Kate got ben to the light,
He had changed himsel' into Will Steel.*

When the pedlar was found in the snow,
Wi' an awfu' deep cloud on his croun,

• A noted Warlock in the west of Scotland.

A hare was seen sneakin' awa,
Wi' the hirple o' auld Granny Broun.

And dinna the Sailor declare,

That she followed him every place, In ocean, in earth and in air,

He kent ilka screw o' her face. And O! at Vesuvius black,

Its wha does he see fleein' doun, Wi' guid Elder Bar on her back,

But the wicked auld witch Granny Broun.

Jean Ferly came on her ae day,

She was boiling heart's bluid in a pat, Guid guide us was a' Jean could say,

When she changed hersel into her cat; For mysel I was sittiu' ae nicht,

A list'ning the wind's eerie sound, Ye may think that I got a gie fricht,

When I heard it cry auld Granny Broun.

But death got auld Granny at last,
She sleeps in the mools wi' her cat,

That the last o' her cantraps is cast,
I'm no just sae certain o' that.

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