11 There was nought left, but quietly to resign, To heeze my pack for ae lang hard campaign; And as the Highlands was the place for meat, I ventured there in spite of wind and weet. Cauld now the Winter blew, and deep the ⟨sna'⟩ For three haill days incessantly did fa'. Far in a muir, amang the whirling drift, Whar nought was seen but mountains and the lift, I lost my road, and wandered mony a mile, Maist dead wi' cauld and hunger, fright and tell. Thus wand'ring, east or west, I kend na' where, My mind o'ercome wi' gloom and black despair, Wi' a fell ringe, I plunged at ance, forsooth, Down through a wreath o' snaw, up to my mouth. Clean o'er my head my precious wallet flew, But whar it gaed, Lord kens, I never knew. What great misfortunes are pour'd down on ⟨some,⟩ I thought my fearfu' hinder en' was come; Wi' grief and sorrow was my soul o'ercast, Ilk breath I drew was like to be my last, For aye the mair I warsled round and roun', I fand mysel' aye stick the deeper down; Till ance at length, wi' a prodigious pull, I drew ⟨my⟩ poor cauld carcase frae the hole. Lang, lang I sought, and graippit for my pack Till night and hunger forced me to come back. For three lang hours I wandered up and down, Till chance, at last conveyed me to a town; There, wi' a trembling hand, I wrote my Kate A sad account of a' my luckless fate; But bade her aye be kind, and no despair
