"Mother," quoth he, "I have not now One-half the butter or cheese, I trow, That loaded my dairy shelves when you Had charge of my household and dairy too: Tell me mother, what shall I do? I vow and declare that some fairy or witch Is robbing me still and doing me ill--I shall never be rich." "My son," the mother mild replied, "See that you pay the fairies their due; A tribute due should ne'er be denied-- Others don't grudge it, and why should you? Nor thrive their flocks nor kine, I ween, Who scorn or neglect the shian green." "But, mother, the witch that lives down i' the glen?" "A widow, my son, with a fatherless oe, Who has seen much sorrow and years of woe; Give her as heretofore, my son, Of your curds and whey, and let her alone. And oh, my son, if you would be rich, And free from dread of fairy and witch. And happy and well-to-do through life-- Go get thee, my son, a winsome wife!" The bachelor hied him home full soon-- He sent to the widow, far down in the glen, A kebbuck of cheese as round as the moon, Of oaten cakes he sent her ten, With a kindly message, "Come when you may For curds and whey in the good old way." He sent her withal, 'tis right you should know, A braw new kilt for her fatherless oe. And ever he saw that his maidens paid To the fairies their due on the Fairy Knowe, Till the emerald sward was under the tread As velvet soft, and all aglow With wild flowers, such as fairies cull, Weaving their garlands and wreaths for the dance when the moon is full! And lo! at last he took him a wife, A comely and winsome dame, I trow, Who shed a sunshine over his life, And silvered the wrinkles upon his brow. 'Twas well with the kine, and well with the dairy, Nor dreaded he ought from witch or fairy; (He had one of his own--she was hight Wee Mary!) And often they went to the cot by the linn, Where mavis and merle made merry din.