Her cutty fark, o' Paisley harn, But here my Mufe her wing maun cour; Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, Till firft ae caper, fyne anither, Tam tint his reafon a' thegither, And And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-fark!" And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When, pop! fhe ftarts before their nofe; When "Catch the thief!" refounds aloud; Wi' mony an eldritch fkreech and hollow. Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! Kate foon will be a woefu' woman! Now, Now, do thy fpeedy utmoft, Meg, Now, *It is a well known fact that witches, or any evil fpirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running ftream.—It may be proper likewife 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. Now, wha this tale o' truth fhall read, Or cutty-farks run in your mind, ΟΝ ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. INHUMAN man! curse on thy barb'rous art, And blafted be thy murder-aiming eye; May never pity foothe thee with a figh, Nor never pleasure glad thy cruel heart! Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, The bitter little that of life remains : No more the thickening brakes and ver dant plains To thee shall home, or food, or paftime yield. |