The minstrel

Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht head,

The snaw drives snelly 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 gorcocks whirring flew;

And mony a day ye've danc'd, I ween.

To lilts that frae 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 night

Was short when he began his din.

My Eppie's voice, O wow its sweet!

E'en tho' she bans and scolds a wee,

But when its tun'd to sorrow's tale,

O haith! its doubly dear to me."

Come in, auld carle, I'll rouse my fire,

And make it bleeze a bonnie flame;

Your bluid is thin, ye've tint the gate,

You 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 o' life,

I wander through a wreath o' snaw.