Tibby Fowler/Donnocht-head
DONNOCHT-HEAD.
Keen blaws the wind o'er Donnocht-Head,
The snaw drives snellie thro' the dale;
The Gaberlunzie tirls my sneck
And, shivering, tells his waefu' tale.
Cauld is the night, O let me in
And dinna let your minstrel fa';
And dinna let his winding sheet
Be naething but a wreath o' snaw.
Full ninety winters hae I seen,
And pip'd whar gor-cocks whirring flew;
And mony a day ye've danc'd I ween,
To lilts, which from my drone I blew.
My Eppie wak'd, and soon she cried,
Get up, gudeman, and let him in;
For weel ye ken the winter nights
Seem'd short when he began his din.
My Eppie's voice, O wow it's sweet,
E'en tho' she bans and scaulds a wee;
But when it's tun'd to sorrows tale,
O, haith, it's doubly dear to me.
Come in, auld carle, I'll steer my fire,
I'll mak it bleeze a bonnie flame,
Your bluid is thin, ye've tint the gate,
Ye should na stray sae far frae hame.
Nae hame hae I the minstrel said,
Sad party-strife o'erturn'd my ha';
And, weeping, at the eve of life,
I wander thro' a wreath o' snaw.