David Davidson.

Thoughts on the seasons, &c online

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" Ferque novum Jlabat cinttum florente corona :
" Stabat nuda /Eftas, et fpicea ferta gerebat :
" Stabat et Autumnus^ calcatis fordldus uvis :
" Et glacialh Hyems^ canos hirfuta capillos."




And fold by J. MURRAY, No. sz, Fleet-Street; and W.CREECH, Edinburgh.



H O U G H the World fliould
in reading the following Sheets, I
fhall not weep becaufe I have written them.
But, I prefume, it is only from my coun-
trymen that the laugh can come, (for, fure-
ly, none will be fool enough to ridicule
what he does notfulfy underftand) and the
fatisfadion is but fmall in one Scotchman
fatyrizing another. The fame things pleafe
not all men. 'Tis as queer to be diflatisfied
with another's way of writing, as it is to
challenge him for having a brown beard,




becaufe his is a black one. Every man in
his humour mine is obvious. The Ro-
man Senators had, their Auditors ; the
Stoick Philosophers, their Followers \ and,
why may not a Caledonian Bard be attend-
ed by, his Admirers ? To deny him the
privilege (at leaft the hope) would be bar-

While fome affect the path of fplendid
life, others, lefs pleafed with great things,
love to trace the fteps of the cottager ; and,
among woods, and rocks, and ftreams, ad-
mire the fcenes of Nature, undifguifed.

That I have expreffed my thoughts
partly in my native dialect, was my incli-


nation. Let not this inclination condemn

the production ; for, the worth of a ftory

confifts not merely in, the language in

which it is told.

The chafte, the harmonious Thomfon,
when his profpeft extended but little be-
yond the walls of Kenfington Gardens,
could circumvene the fkirts of the Gram-
pian Hills there purfue the vagrant ram,
from his fold to the mountain conduct
the bleating lamb from the hill, to its dam
in the vale view the finny race fporting
in the purling cryftal ftream and, with
the 'herd-boy, chafe the fly-flung heifer,
" low bellowing round the hills."


v iii PREFACE.

With a prolpedi, not more extenfive than
Thomfon's, I have circumven'd the hil-
locks of my natal foil mark'd the procefs
of the acorn to the oak attended the bee
from the hive to the heathy hill and fol-
lowed the duckling from the egg to the

Throughout the whole, I have endeavoured
to copy Nature. Little, therefore, is farther
neceflary by way of Preface, in defence of
my Book ; or, to keep it in countenance,
if the unprejudiced admirers of Nature
can find in it only, that the tale is not


T T AIL, lovely Spring ! thy bonny lyart face,

And head wi' plumrocks deck'd, befpeak the fun's
Return to blefs this ifle, and cheer her fprouts.
Who can wi' fafety murmur at his lot,
Or girn at Providence, whom Heaven has fpar'd
Frae a' the weary wreck o' winter's wafte,
To keek at Spring ? Life lengthen'd is a gift.
The torrent's fugh is hufh'd, the fpate is done
The fwelled brook is dwindled to a burn.
No wreaths o' fnow now on the hills are feen,
Nor, ba's like pyramids, upo' the plain.
Soft- blowing winds diflblve the icy clods,
And cou'ters mine behind the flurdy fleers.
The little fecklefs bee, wi' pantry toom,

And hinny-crock ev'n wi' the laggin lick'd,

B Long


Long looking for black Beltan's wind to blaw$
Drops frae his waxen cell upo' the ftane
The funny beams peep though his narrow porch,
Wi' fklentin caft and wi' reviving pow'r
Beftir his feeble joints. In gladfome frifk
He eyes the bonny day and, bizzing, tries
To trim his little wings, to walk, to fly.
Now fquintin at the fun, he takes a ften
Wi' ardent bir, and pitches on a ftraw.
Then rifing hence, he wheels around the ikep
To try his pith, Syne, on the riggin lights
Proud o' his growing ftrength he bums on high ;
And, fkimmtng round, unto the brae he flies,
And lights upon a gowan wi' his trunk
He fcoops the yellow ftore refrefh'd at e'en
'He, blythe returns wi' forage on his hips.
His brother bees around him run in troops,
To prie the new-earn'd fweets and, farley a'
To fee fie gaucy thighs, fie yellow bum.
Induftrious race ! without or kirk or fchool,



Ye learn arts, and preach morality !
Would men but learn frae you, wee winfome elves,
They'd be more frugal lefs to knav'ry prone.
Now frae their cribs the tarry gimmers trot,
And, fpread around the faulds, to crop the blade
Of tender grafs, or thriving waly. Some
Afcend the till and, ftraying far afield,
'Mong fcroggy braes, or lonely rocky glens,
Seek out a lamming place. Upo' the cliff
Within a hallow craig where none dare go,
The eagle has his haunt a royal neft
Bequeath'd to him and his, fmce time unken'd -
There to the beetling rock he hefts his prey,
Of lam or hare, ta'en frae the vale below.
Upo' the brow he fits, and, round him deals,
Unto his unfledg'd fons, the flefhy feaft
Himfelf wi' penches ftaw'd, he dights his neb,
And to the fun, in drowfy mood, fpreads out
His boozy tail. Right o'er the fteep he leans,
When his well-plenifh'd king-hood voiding needs ;
B 2 And


And, fploiting, ftrikes the ftane his grany hit,
Wi' piftol fcreed, {hot frae his gorlin doup.
Now midway in the air the buzzard fkims,
The ftaney dale, fu' gleg upon his prey.
Wi' hungry maw he fcoors frae knowe to knowe,
In hopes of food in mowdy, moufe, or flreaw.
As o'er the birny brae mayhap he wheels,
The linties cour wi' fear and, frae his branch,
Whereon he fat and fang, the mavis pops
Into the thorny brake his fmging fpoil'd.
If chance upon an afh above the lin,
A hoody has her neft on feeing the gled
Approach too near her bounds, down on the foe
She darts, wi' wicked fkraich fyne, at his tail,
Frae 'mang the fcroggs, the yorlins fly in cluds,
Like tykes upon a beggar. Down the glen,
Far from the tread of any human foot,
Upon a blafted oak, the croaking ra'en,
Fell thief o' gofling brood, has his retreat.
The cloken hen, when frae the kipple-fit



She breaks her tether, to the midden rins
Wi' a'her burds about her, fyking fain,
To fcrape for mauks and little ducks and geefe
Rin todlin on the green, a' free frae fear.
Down in a han-clap comes the corby cock,
Upo' the middin tap, and, wi' a twirl
Snaps frae his mither's hip the fav'rite chick.
Faft off he flies wi' burdie in his clutch,
Far 'hind unto his nefl and, 'fore his mate,
Lays, the delicious meltit war's proclaim'd
Againft the corby race and glens and heughs
Are hunted for the cockrel but in vain.
Meanwhile twa 'herds upo' the finny brae
Forgathering, ftraught down on tammocks clap
Their nether ends, and, talk their unco's o'er
Auld farnyear ftories come athwart their minds,
Of bum-bee bykes, pet pyats, doos, and keaws,
An' a' the winfome fports that 'herds are prone to.
While at their tauk fae thrang, upo' the bank
Juft at their feet, alights the corby craw,

B 3 And


And frae his hillan the poor mowdy whups
They mark the way he takes, when quick as fint,
Adown the darkfome glen he wheels, and, on
His aerie lights. Rejoiced at the fight,
They brattle to the brow whence, they defcry
Upon a blighted afh, above a pqol,
The fum of prefent hopes a plenifh'd nefl.
Straight down the jfteep they Hide wi' canny care,
Ilk at the other's en', frae ftump to ftane,
For fear o' donfy whirl into the ftream ; .
Syne, up ane fpeels, and, in the wooly haunt,
Wi' dizzy eyes, he views the fpreckled ftore.
Forth frae the nefl the warm treafure's drawn,
And, in his bonnet flung hence homeward they
Poft, peghing, wi' their fpoil. The pingle-pan
Is on the ingle fet into the flood
Of firey frith the lyart gear is caft,
And addled eggs, and burdies without doups,
Play round, promifcuous, in the boiling pool,
A' ftiff'ning to a pafte by dint o' flame.



Hence in the nefl replac'd, the wa'fu ra'en
Muft, ere fhe clock them, travel to the eaft,
Unto the burn that through auld Eden rins, *
Where Adam and his Wife, as ftory tells,
Did plant their bow-kail, and the garden delve ;
And thence, fetch frae the brook, a yellow ftane,
To chip the fhell. The fun, bra honeft light !
Now o'er the lift a larger circuit takes ;
Gets fooner out o' bed, goes later ly,
And, by his kindly pow'r upo' the riggs
Makes briers and dockens grow. The farmer, ere
The cock had craw'd day, or the ducks had drate,
Upo' the hallan-ftane, ca's frae his cot
The drowfy callan wi' unwilling ftep
He ftalks the bent, wi' fcarrow o' the moon,
To tend hisjteecy care. Upo' the glebe,
Soon as the day glents ruddy frae the Eaft,
The ploughman flrides, and, frae his wauked loof
Flings forth the yellow grain, into the lap
O' th' fallow'd field. The harrows yok'd, and, now,
B 4 Baivfy,


Bawfy, reluctant, tears the breckan roots
Harfh, fpaul frae fpaul, and fhuts the fawing fcene.
Bright, dainty Heaven ! " be gracious now that man
Has done his part" ye warm breezes blow !
Ye drizzling fhow'rs decend ! but frae the fields
May white fair-farren frofts keep far awa.
Thou hot-fac'd fun ! who chears the drooping warld,
And gars the buntlins throttle, by thy pow'r,
Look laughing frae thy fky and, with thy heat
Temper the fcatter'd clods, and, fouder all
Into the perfect year. Nor gentles a*
Who live in pancake biggins, rich an' fine,
In bonny hinni'd fields, by whofe door-ftane
Braid ftrans o' butter rin who ne'er have felt
The fling o' empty wyme, nor poverty,

: Think thefe loft themes unworthy of your ear."
Sic fangs as thae, the heather headed bard *
Of Scotland, ranted, as he trod the glebe ;
And, Caledonia's tafle thought it nae fhame
To croon the o'er-word. Kings, time 'moft forgot,
* Burns. Them-


Themfelves delighted vvi' their taes to tread,
The fall ow'd fur' behind the bended flare.
Bra healthfu' toil ! well worth the care o' Kings.
With thee, Dependance never had a place.
Scepter'd hands may a' their power difplay ; f

And, dorty minds may luxury admire
O'er fceptres fock ! thou bearft the gree awa
With thee, corruption is a fremmit name.
" Te generous Britons venerate the plough !"
And, let your braes frae, Bafs to utmoft Tbule,
Wave wi' the Jlaves of life, the wheaten flalks ;
That, every needy pilgrim on his way,
May find fupport throughout the ftaney vale,
And, get a heezy o'er the fleugh o' want.

Not o'er the corny riggs alone, the fun
Spreads forth his yellow rays the benty brow
Nods wi' luxuriant heather, in whofe fkirts,
The churlin moor -cock woes his valentine,
Couring coyim to his fidelin tread.



Up the meand'ring ftream the verdure rins,
And, lilies fpread their foliage to the day.
Rankly fprings the rum around the pool,
And, faugh-trees bloiTom on ilk burn brae
Unfolding by degrees their leafy items,
The cat-tails whiten through the verdant bog.
All-vivifying Nature does her work
(Though flow, yet, fure) not like a racklefs coof
O' prentice wabfter lad, who breaks his fpool,
And, waftes the waft upo' a mis-rid purn 5
But, like a miftrefs o' her trade, fhe weaves
Through flem and leaf, the vegetative pow'r ;
Till, the fu' flow'red bank difplays a fight
Of crawfoots, bowing wi' luxuriant nod.

On banks like thae array'd, oft let me walk,
And, meditate on Him who cleacS the yeard
Wi' fie bra flow'ry drefs and, who regards,
Wi' faithfu' care, the work o' faithlefs man.
On banks like thae, amang the rifing tribe



O' Sprigs and Walys, Contemplation grows.-

There, Meditation fprings up wi' the elm

On's airy top afpires to Providence -,

And, with the bri'r, creeps to him on the ground.

Upo' the juicy bark now infects prey,

And, flrive the embryo fruit i'th' bud to kill.

Thefe to deftroy be't now thy watchfu' care.

The linny rays wide blinking on the wa'

In noon-day height, lead frae their winter cells

The fable race o clocks and, vernal warmths,

Defcending, roufe, the pifmires and, from

His flimy hole entice, the capped fnail

Wight deftructive ! by thy eating power

The gard'ner's labor's loft, and, a' the hopes

O' plenty perifhes beneath thy wyme.

Black troops o' midges floating on the breeze,

To fome warm nook repair, where calmnefs reigns ;

And, there, wi' finging din, and frifky flianks,

Dance round the bayes, like pipers at a wake ;

And, play their gambols in the finny beams.



Of thefe beware. Faft o'er the verdant leaf

Thefoofy bitter caft, or, midft the throng

O' infedts hiv'd, pour forth the wat'ry death.

'Twas in this infant feafon of the year,
When, ducks a paddock-hunting fcour the bog,
And, powheads fpartle in the oofy flofti ;
That Donald, tir'd wi' lang-kail in a mun,
At's ain fire fide, long'd for the flipp'ry food,
And dainty cleading o' fome unken'd land.
Long had he dream'd o' wealth and, riches bra,
In unco climes ; but, frae his friends had kept
The winfome fecret. On the hill-top he
Us'd oft' to walk, and, fighing, take farewell
O' a' the bonny glens, the finny braes,
And, nei'brin booricks, where he danc'd and fang -
Now loofmg beauty in his wayward look.
Oft downward to the Weft he'd watch the fan,
And, think within himfel " If I could once

Reach, fafe, the fouthern fhore, to Mexico



Or old Peru, among the diftant woods,
Where chiels wi' footy fkins, an* yill-caup een,
Hae their abodes who routh o' riches fin',
Nought knowing of their worth who for a knife
Or penny whiffle, will part wi' their gold
In gopinfu's or, for a roofty nail

Will fwap their faireft gem." On this he thought,

And, what he thought at day, at night he dream'd

But, nor his dady nor his mither ken'd

The lad's intent nor what great fiore o' wealth,

In fpeculation, he had hoarded up

Till ae ftill e'en', as faft upo' his bed

The lad, in (lumber wrap'd, tracing the vein

O' yellow ore through many dreamy fcenes,

Upftarting to his centre, mutter'd long,

In broken tone, the fubjecl: o' his plan 5

Which being o'erheard, his little titta Jean

Cries, " Dad, our Donald dreams !" fyne, by his tae

Takes hold and, plain's my thum' he fays,'* Peru"



Moorland Willie and his wife

Liv'd bienly near Strathboggy
Nay ither way did they feed life
Than, frae a timmer coggy
Contented he, kind hearted fhe
Their plans did ever jingle

And, aaier by any o'er the lea


Were ever feen to pingle,

'Bout flraes, that day.<

While hale and fear, wi' his twa han's

He kept the crowdy gawin -
And wad hae kemp'd wi' any man

At dyking, or at mawing.
Sae fnug they liv'd on what they earn'd,

That, nane were e'er mair happy
And, when great folks at ither girn'd,
drown'd their care in nappy

Fu' brown, that day. .

A fon


A fon they had whafe name was Gib,

A lad o' muckle gumflieon
Who cou'd rin o'er the Greek fu' glib,

Or, count pints in a puncheon.
Nae lad than he mair fpruce, in faith,

At either kirk or market
On's back a coat o' hame-made claith,

And, underneath weel farket

Wi' harn, that day,

At fairs, aboon the countra lads,

Gib held his head right canty
Whoe'er did flight him gat a daud,

Whenever he was ranty.
The lafles a' baith far and near,

Lik'd Gibby o' the clachan -
Wi's bonnet trigg aboon his ear,

An' face for maift part laughin

Wi' joy, that day.



By moonlight led, upo* the green

The chiels wad meet in daffin,
And warfle for a corkin preen;

Syne, to the yill a' quaffin
Gib's Dady aft wad claw his loof,
An,' pinch, and pu' his jazy,
To fee ilk flegging witlefs coof,
Get o'er his thum' a heezy

In fun, that night.

Now Gib will leave his native land

In fpite o' a* their banter
What fignifis't on ftanes to fland

An* round the kail -yard faunter ?
Shall I, fays Gib, flay here a' hame

Like witlefs Willy Glinted,
Whafe pladdin wafcoat o'er his wyme

Shaws, he's in's porritch ftinted !

Sae toom, that day.



Gib's now gane for the Weftern feas,

Whare felchs an' pellucks whamble,
And's left his gear a 5 hame to thefe,

Wha for't think worth to fcramble.
Frae's ain houfe en' unto the fhore,

He fcoor'd wi' a' his mettle,
An' 's aft as afk'd, Gib's anfwers were,

" To Halifax to fettle"

In tred, that day.

As on he trudg'd through Paifley town,

The wabfter lads kept glowrin
But, Gibby's een were not his own,

On leaving Meg Maclaurin
He ran a wee, and fyne, did ftan'

To fee the burdies fingingj
And, thought he heard as he was gawn,

Strathboggy bell a ringing

Wi' wae, that day.
C But


But now the lad has ta'en the fea,

An' wefllin, at a venture,
He feuds alang wi' heart as free,

As 'prentice frae's indenture
Although his Maggy on his mind,

Did fometimes gie a dunner ;
Yet, hopes that routh o' goud he'd nVd

O'er's love did come a lunner

Right fell, that day,*

Auld Scotland foon was out of fight

Through jaws an' billows roarin
The ihip, fometimes, jump'd corbacks height,

O'er whales afleep an' fnorin.
Now, Gibby, cooft ae look behin',

Wi' eyes wi' fainnefs blinkin,
To fpae the weather by they?;/,

But, coudna flan' for kinkin

Rainbows, that day.



For twice ten days clofe to the maft,

Young Gibby fet his riggin
Twa rafters kippled 'boon him fail,

Serv'd for a better biggin.
At length upo' the fhore he iten'd,

And, flegg'd his highland mankies,
But he by nane there, e'er was ken'd ;

Sae thick amang the Yankies,

Queer chiels, that day.*

Gib now forgathering wi' the thrang,

Met wi' his coufin Roger,
Wha had na been, frae Glaigow lang,

Till he became a Soger.
Gib, too, enlifts and hoifts up high

A whin-root and a myrtle,
Syne, cluds draw near, with, on their thighs

Swords made o' timmer fpurtles,

To fight, that day.

C 2 Gib


Gib forward moved wi' the fun,

Wi' a' his men in order,
Thinking to fright' wi' wooden guns,

The whigs, frae 'bout their borders,
But, phiz and crack, upo' the bent

The whigs cam on in cluthers,
Wi' piftols' rair their lugs maifl rent,

An' put Gib in a fwither

To rin, that day.-

The Yankies brattled down the brae,

To fave themfels a bangin;
And, Gibby fkelp'd before the fae,

Like Colly wi' a mangin.
Maifl feck gaed hame, themfels, to tell

The upmot o' the bruilie;
But, fome wi' mair than powder fmell'd,

Forfairn by the tweelie

I'th breeks, that day.


For cowards fome their craigs had racks'd,

And fome they got a fneezin
Gibby on them turn'd his back,

Wi' a' his doup a bleezin *.
Sic was the fate o' norland Gib,

Wha tarrow'd at his coggy
When ither flammacks were fu' glib,

An' guid, about Strathboggy,

For brofe, that day.-
* Tar and Feathers,

C 3 Now


Now o'er the fields, the yellow goldfpinks mow
Their bluming glory to the warm breeze
And, now, in dinfu bizzing, through the air
The bees crowd thick, to tafte the hinni'd fweets,
Upo' the broomy brae. Fair to the fight
The whinny hill fpreads forth its yellow bloom ;
And, heather-bells upo' the mountain's top
Wag wi' the morning dew.* Athwart thej^//,
At dawn, fly Reynard fweeps the heathy brae,
Returning to his bold wi' reeking fnout, -
Red in the flaughter o' his pilfer'd fpoil.
Guilt.goes not always free. Frae hill to hill
Heard frae afar, the found of echoing horn
Advancing, fpeaks th' avenging hand comes on.
The farmer rifing with the foaring lark,
Unto the mountain bends his early way,
To count his fleecy ftore. Onward he goes,
Wi' bonnet o'er his haffet fklentin laid,
And, mind contemplative on Him who cleads
The yeard wi' verdure, and, kindly bellows



Bleffings on him, in fruitfu' goat or yowe.
Far in the filent nook o' bufliy glen,
Where none could fee, trudging along, he fpies
The luflieft wether o' his diftant fold,
Bereft of life, and, by the fpoiler torn.
Amaz'd he flan's, an' wi' a waefu e'e
Beholds, his cypher on his fhorn fide.
Meanwhile, upo' the hill, the trufty pack
Loud opens on the track the hunter's voice
Shrill-urging to the death, purfues amain ;
And, down the bumy vale, unto the fpot
Of flaughter, dogs the foe. Encourag'd by
The fight o' bloody carcafe, hopes arife,
That, the fell murd'rer is not diftant far.
The hunt renew'd- o'er dykes and birny fells
They fcour upo' the fcent an', by an* by,
Advancing ftraight on the expanded plain,
They prefs upo' their prey.- Arou fed by
The found of hound and horn, the village fwarms
Upo' the bent. Fail frae their fpinning-wheels
C 4 Ilk


Ilk hizzy fcours the bog and, luckies, leal,
Rin toddlin to the knowe wi' rock in han*,
To lend a lunner at the wily thief.
Tir'd out wi' toil, at length poor Reynard finks,
Amidft triumphant yells and, to the bites
O' the devouring pack, without a youl,
Submits The lovely May now ulhers in
The hauthorn fooofs, and o'er the bufhy dell
Each branch difplays exigence on the hills
A' things look canty. Shepherds, gay, begin
To big their booricks on each finny brae.
Frae hill to hill, through glens and flaney dales,
In fearch o' vagrant tips auld bawty rins
While, up the fteep, the 'herd wi' akin fhanks
Purfues the fremmit yowe ; and, now and then,
Erts on the tir'd tyke with " Jheep awa a a /"

Now, on the plain the lambs, at fetting fun,
Forfake their mithers and together meet,
Intent on mirth to friendship having fvvorn >



Ane taks a ften, acrols the foggy fur',
Wi' racklefs force, fyne, at his heels, in troops
The reft rin brattlin after, kir and croufe
Like couts an' fillies ftarting frae a pofl
Upo' a turf-dyke, ftraught, they take their ftan*
Or, round a tammock wheel, an', fleggin, tofs
The moudy-hillan to the air in floor.
The mavis now, upo' the bufhy bank,
Unto the trees emits his evening fong j
And, a' around is peacefu' harmony.
Forth frae the whinny hrae the maukin fteals,
Wi' hirplin ftep, down to the vale below,
To tafte the fpringing wheat, or barley braird.
Wi' cautious care pufs doubles on her track,
An', tents the mavis' whittle at ilk flen.
Clofe to the far' fhe lays her downy wyme,
An', mumps the verdant blade wi' lonely fear.
Poor timorous elf ! bane o' the farmer's toil !
In feeding here, thou only tak'ft the tythe
For Nature's vicar given, fo to give



But fhould fome ruftic hallion fee thee here,
In thy luxuriant paftime, tent him well
Againft thy life he lays the noofing grin,
Of hair, well twilled, frae the filly's tail.
Or, mould the guid-man's fon, a racklefs chiel
As ever fitted fur' ahint the plew,
Come o'er the hill to count his outlar queys,
An', fee the hap frae ftauk to flauk, thy life's
Not worth a whiffle. Straught out o'er the bent
Hameward he fcours, we' a' his fpirits up j
An', frae the flake, aboon the ingle-en',
He whips the carabine. -The motion-hole
Frae ruft unfpik'd, and flint a flaming fet,
Adown the bank he haftens, to the fpot
Where a' the treafure o' 's uplifted hopes
Was feen to hirple priming as he rins.
Frae bufh to bufh, afk-lent the bank he fcours ;
(His cutes ilk ither fmite 'tween fear and joy)
Advanced near, he flings his bonnet by ;
And, on his knees, creeps foftly to the hedge.



Poor hairy-footed thing ! undreaming thou

Of this ill-fated hour, doft bienly lie,

And, chew thy cud, among the wheaten ilore.

Thy murdrer undifcover'd is prepar'd !

Now, through the wattled flakes wi' glentin look,

He peeps upo' his prey, tho' dimly feen

Through wat'ry floods of joy, and, cocking, takes

An enlang aim, to hit baith lugs an' tail.

His piece prefented to the back he draws

The roofty trigger 'and, as quick as thought,

In awfu* fplutter frae its riftin gab,

Pie flrikes a flane, fax ells ayont his aim.

The hills reverberate the dinfome yell.

Rous'd by the rumblin noife, poor maukin takes

The bent, wi' nimble foot ^and, fcudding, cocks

Her bun, in rude defiance of his pow'r. .

But, vengeance ever dogs and follows guilt.

The halloo rais'd forth frae the ha'-houfe fwarm,

A pack o' yelpin tykes. The cotter's cur,

At's ain fire-fide, rous'd by the glad alarm,



Out o'er the porritch-pingle takes a ften,
Laying the brofy weans upo' the floor
Wi' donfy heght, and, rins unto the bent,
O'er moor an' dale fafl flee the yelpin tribe,
Encourag'd to the fcent by long halloos.
Some this way take the hill, the neareft cut,
Unto the place where laft the hare was feen

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Online LibraryDavid DavidsonThoughts on the seasons, &c → online text (page 1 of 6)