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POEMS.
41
SONG.
Ye're no sae vera kind, my lad,
As bygane days ye've been;
Your tryst wi' me ye didna haud,
Beside thon burn the streen.
Whan first ye bade me to the glen,
To tell the luve ye bore me,
I mind fu' weel, my lad, that then,
Ye cam a while afore me.
As bygane days ye've been;
Your tryst wi' me ye didna haud,
Beside thon burn the streen.
Whan first ye bade me to the glen,
To tell the luve ye bore me,
I mind fu' weel, my lad, that then,
Ye cam a while afore me.
THE KING OF THE CATS.[1]
The night was tempestuous, and dreary, and dark,
With long travel a stranger was tired,
When he saw, o'er the wild, a faint glimmering spark,
And eagerly bending his course to the mark,
He arrived at the object desired.
With long travel a stranger was tired,
When he saw, o'er the wild, a faint glimmering spark,
And eagerly bending his course to the mark,
He arrived at the object desired.
- ↑ This is founded on a story related in the Letters attributed to the second Lord Lyttelton, vol. ii. letter 39, ed. 1782.
