But here I must pause. Shall I be breaking my promise of not a word of Scotch in my story, if I give the song? True it is not a part of the story exactly, but it is in it. If my reader would like the song, he must have it in Scotch or not at all. I am not going to spoil it by turning it out of its own natural clothes into finer garments to which it was not born--I mean by translating it from Scotch into English. The best way will be this: I give the song as something extra--call it a footnote slipped into the middle of the page. Nobody needs read a word of it to understand the story; and being in smaller type and a shape of its own, it can be passed over without the least trouble. SONG Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin[1] sings, Wi’ a clip o’ the sunshine atween his wings; Whaur the birks[2] are a’ straikit wi’ fair munelicht, And the broom hings its lamps by day and by nicht; Whaur the burnie comes trottin’ ower shingle and stane, Liltin’ [3] bonny havers[4] til ‘tsel alane; And the sliddery[5] troot, wi’ ae soop o’ its tail, Is awa’ ‘neath the green weed’s swingin’ veil! Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang as I saw The yorlin, the broom, an’ the burnie, an’ a’! Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the primroses wonn, Luikin’ oot o’ their leaves like wee sons o’ the sun; Whaur the wild roses hing like flickers o’ flame, And fa’ at the touch wi’ a dainty shame; Whaur the bee swings ower the white clovery sod, And the butterfly flits like a stray thoucht o’ God; Whaur, like arrow shot frae life’s unseen bow, The dragon-fly burns the sunlicht throu’! Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang to see The rose and the primrose, the draigon and bee! Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the mune luiks doon, As gin she war hearin’ a soundless tune, Whan the flowers an’ the birds are a’ asleep, And the verra burnie gangs creepy-creep; Whaur the corn-craik craiks in the lang lang rye, And the nicht is the safter for his rouch cry; Whaur the wind wad fain lie doon on the slope, And the verra darkness owerflows wi’ hope! Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur, silent, I felt The mune an’ the darkness baith into me melt. Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luiks in, Sayin’, Here awa’, there awa’, baud awa’, sin! Wi’ the licht o’ God in his flashin’ ee, Sayin’, Darkness and sorrow a’ work for me! Whaur the lark springs up on his ain sang borne, Wi’ bird-shout and jubilee hailin’ the morn; For his hert is fu’ o’ the hert o’ the licht, An’, come darkness or winter, a’ maun be richt! Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luikit in, Sayin’, Here awa’, there awa’, hand awa’, sin.