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. I 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! III When aince Aprile has fairly come, An' birds may bigg in winter's lum, An' pleesure's spreid for a' and some O' whatna state, Love, wi' her auld recruitin' drum, Than taks the gate. 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. An' 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. 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, harum-scarum raw, Wi' smilin' face. IV A MILE AN' A BITTOCK A mile an' a bittock, a mile or twa, Abuene the burn, ayont the law, Davie an' Donal' an' Cherlie an' a', An' the muene was shinin' clearly! Ane went hame wi' the ither, an' then The ither went hame wi' the ither twa men, An' baith wad return him the service again, An' the muene was shinin' clearly! The clocks were chappin' in house an' ha', Eleeven, twal an' ane an' twa; An' the guidman's face was turnt to the wa' An' the muene was shinin' clearly! A wind got up frae affa the sea, It blew the stars as clear's could be, It blew in the een of a' o' the three, An' the muene was shinin' clearly! Noo, Davie was first to get sleep in his head, "The best o' frien's maun twine," he said; "I'm weariet, an' here I'm awa' to my bed." An' the muene was shinin' clearly! Twa o' them walkin' an' crackin' their lane, The mornin' licht cam grey an' plain, An' the birds they yammert on stick an' stane, An' the muene was shinin' clearly! O years ayont, O years awa', My lads, ye'll mind whate'er befa'-- My lads, ye'll mind on the bield o' the law, When the muene was shinin' clearly. V A LOWDEN SABBATH MORN The clinkum-clank o' Sabbath bells Noo to the hoastin' rookery swells, Noo faintin' laigh in shady dells, Sounds far an' near, An' through the simmer kintry tells Its tale o' cheer.