p. 82Or in the gloamin’ douce an’ gray The sweet-throat mavis tunes her lay; The herd comes linkin’ doun the brae; An’ by degrees The muckle siller müne maks way Amang the trees.

p. 82

Here aft hae I, wi’ sober heart, For meditation sat apairt, When orra loves or kittle art Perplexed my mind; Here socht a balm for ilka smart O’ humankind.

Here aft, weel neukit by my lane, Wi’ Horace, or perhaps Montaigne, The mornin’ hours hae come an’ gane Abüne my heid— I wadnae gi’en a chucky-stane For a’ I’d read.

p. 83But noo the auld city, street by street, An’ winter fu’ o’ snaw an’ sleet, Awhile shut in my gangrel feet An’ goavin’ mettle; Noo is the soopit ingle sweet, An’ liltin’ kettle.

p. 83

An’ noo the winter winds complain; Cauld lies the glaur in ilka lane; On draigled hizzie, tautit wean An’ drucken lads, In the mirk nicht, the winter rain Dribbles an’ blads.

Whan bugles frae the Castle rock, An’ beaten drums wi’ dowie shock, Wauken, at cauld-rife sax o’clock, My chitterin’ frame, I mind me on the kintry cock, The kintry hame.

p. 84I mind me on yon bonny bield; An’ Fancy traivels far afield To gaither a’ that gairdens yield O’ sun an’ Simmer: To hearten up a dowie chield, Fancy’s the limmer!

p. 84

p. 85III

p. 85

When aince Aprile has fairly come, An’ birds may bigg in winter’s lum, An’ pleisure’s spreid for a’ and some O’ whatna state, Love, wi’ her auld recruitin’ drum, Than taks the gate.

When

The heart plays dunt wi’ main an’ micht; The lasses’ een are a’ sae bricht, Their dresses are sae braw an’ ticht, The bonny birdies!— Puir winter virtue at the sicht Gangs heels ower hurdies.

p. 86An’ aye as love frae land to land Tirls the drum wi’ eident hand, A’ men collect at her command, Toun-bred or land’art, An’ follow in a denty band Her gaucy standart.

p. 86

An’ I, wha sang o’ rain an’ snaw, An’ weary winter weel awa’, Noo busk me in a jacket braw, An’ tak my place I’ the ram-stam, 

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