The Book of Scottish Song/The Waits
The Waits.
[Richard Gall.—The Waits are little bands of musicians, who perambulate the streets at midnight, for some time before and after the Christmas and New-Year festivities.]
Wha's this, wi' voice o' music sweet,
Sae early wakes the weary wight?
O weel I ken them by their sough,
The wand'ring minstrels o' the night.
O weel I ken their bonnie lilts,
Their sweetest notes o' melody,
Fu' aft they've thrill'd out through my saul,
And gart the tear fill ilka e'e.
O, sweetest minstrels! weet your pipe,
A tender soothin' note to blaw;
Syne souf the "Broom o' Cowdenknowes,"
Or "Roslin Castle's" ruined wa'.
They bring to mind the happy days,
Fu' aft I've spent wi' Jenny dear:—
Ah! now ye touch the very note,
That gars me sigh, and drap a tear.
Your fremit lilts I downa bide,
They never yield a charm for me:
Unlike our ain, by nature made,
Unlike the saft delight they gi'e;
For weel I ween they warm the breast,
Though sair oppress'd wi' poortith cauld;
An' sae an auld man's heart they cheer,
He tines the thought that he is auld.
O, sweetest minstrels! halt a wee,
Anither lilt afore ye gang;
An' syne I'll close my waukrife e'e,
Enraptured wi' your bonnie sang.
They're gane! the moon begins to dawn;
They're weary paidlin' through the weet:
They're gane! but on my ravished ear,
The dying sounds yet thrill fu' sweet.