All hands against them — theirs against all earth”

Thus still they wander unrestrained and free

As erst their fathers did in Araby.

Peopled or not-it is the same — they view

The earth as their unalienable due,

And move by one undeviating plan

To take whate’er they may — protect who can.

Strange are their annals — Oh, regard them well!

For thou hast much to hear and I to tell.

The Auld Man’s Fareweel to his Wee House

I like ye weel, my wee auld house,

Though laigh the wa’s an’ flat the riggin’;

Though round thy lum the sourick grows,

An’ rain-draps gaw my cozy biggin’.

Lang hast thou happit mine an’ me,

My head’s grown gray aneath thy kipple;

An’ aye thy ingle cheek was free

Baith to the blind man an’ the cripple:

An’ to the puir forsaken wight

Wi’ bairnie at her bosom cryin’,

My cot was open day an’ night,

Nor wanted bed for sick to lie in.

What gart my ewes thrive on the hill,

An’ kept my little store increasin’? —

The rich man never wished me ill,

The puir man left me aye his blessin’.

Troth, I maun greet wi’ thee to part,

Though to a better house I’m flittin’;

Sic joys will never glad my heart

As I’ve had by thy hallan sittin’.

My bonnie bairns around me smiled;

My sonsie wife sat by me spinnin’,

Aye liltin’ owre her ditties wild,

In notes sae artless and sae winnin’.

Our frugal meal was aye a feast;

Our e’enin’ psalm a hymn of joy:

Aye calm an’ peacefu’ was our rest;

Our bliss, our love without alloy.

I canna help but haud thee dear,

My auld, storm-battered hamely sheilin’;

Thy sooty lum an’ kipples clear

I better lo’e than gaudy ceilin’.

Thy roof will fa’, thy rafters start,

How damp an’ cauld thy hearth will be!

Ah, sae will soon ilk honest heart,

That erst was blithe an’ bauld in thee.

I thought to cower aneath thy wa’,

Till death had closed my weary e’en;

Then left thee for the narrow ha’,

Wi’ lowly roof o’ swaird sae green.

Fareweel, my house an’ burnie clear,

My bourtree bush an’ bowzy tree;

The wee while I maun sojourn here,

I’ll never find a hame like thee!

The Witch o’ Fife

Hurray, hurray, the jade’s away.

Like a rocket of air with her bandalet!

I’m up in the air on my bonnie grey mare,

But I see her yet, I see her yet.

I’ll ring the skirts o’ the gowden wain

Wi’ curb an’ bit, wi’ curb an’ bit:

An’ catch the Bear by the frozen mane —

An’ I see her yet, I see her yet.

Away, away, o’er mountain an’ main,

To sing at the morning’s rosy yett;

An’ water my mare at its fountain clear —

But I see her yet, I see her yet.

Away, thou bonnie witch o’ Fife,

On foam of the air to heave an’ flit,

An’ little reck thou of a poet’s life,

For he sees thee yet, he sees thee yet!

A Witch’s Chant

Thou art weary, weary, weary,

Thou art weary and far away,

Hear me, gentle spirit, hear me,

Come before the dawn of day.

I hear a small voice from the hill,

The vapour is deadly, pale, and still —

A murmuring sough is on the wood,

And the witching star is red as blood.

And in the cleft of heaven I scan

The giant form of a naked man,

His eye is like the burning brand,

And he holds a sword in his right hand.

All is not well. By dint of spell,

Somewhere between the heaven and hell

There is this night a wild deray,

The spirits have wander’d from their way.

The purple drops shall tinge the moon

As she wanders through the midnight noon;

And the dawning heaven shall all be red

With blood by guilty angels shed.

Be as it will, I have the skill

To work by good or work by ill;