Peden's Grave
"A man of God, Peden the Prophet was his name. Ye'll have heard tell of Prophet Peden. There was never the wale of him sinsyne, and it's a question wi' mony if there was ever his like afore. He was wild 's a peat-hag, fearsome to look at, fearsome to hear, his face like the day of judgment. The voice of him was like a solan's and dinneled in folk's lugs, and the words of him like coals of fire."—R. L. S.
WHEN Peden the Prophet, the outlaw, was dying,
He said to the friends that were weeping at hand:
"Ye'll tak' me to Ayremoss; I fain would be lying
Where Ritchie is resting, at peace in the land.
But when and wherever my grave may be maken,
My weary auld body will find but small rest,
By the force of the wicked my bones will be taken
To swing on a gibbet, the enemy's jest."
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