While Inglis, thus opprest wi' drink an' care, Pyowtered alang, an' browdenin' unco sair On's Tibbie dear,--whiles thinkin' upo' witches That haunt the Collieburn--unholy wretches!-- His puir Guidwife set doun the evenin' meal, An', by the fire, sat birrin' at her wheel. The chaumer had a cozy look, an' clean;[4] For weel she likit it sud aye be seen. While weary time beat on wi' measured speed, Fu' mony a glance toward the knock she gied: "I wunner oor Guidman's nae frae the fair; He's past his ord'nar time four hoors an' mair. See, Betty, lass! the nicht is growin' cauld, Fesh twa-r-three peats to mak' the fire mair bauld; An' bring me tidin's o' the kin' o' nicht-- Whether it's wet or dry, or mirk or licht." "A bonnie nicht it is on hill an' howe, The moon's just glintin' o'er the Castle knowe." "Weel, lass, I'm glad o' that," her mistress cried; An' to her task her eident hand applied. "An' now gae to your bed, there's nocht to hinner-- Ye're sleepy like--aweel, I dinna wunner; But see ye're up wi' morn's first glint o' grey, For weel ye ken it is oor kirnin' day." Inglis, wi' put an' row, still hauds the gait, Fairies an' witches jumblin' in his pate, Gain heels o'er head, like bumbees in a byke, Sae doun he leans, sair dung, upon a dyke; Wearied wi' travel, sair he tries to think,-- But that's clean o'er him, he's sae dazed wi' drink. "I wish I war' but at oor plantin' beltie, Or had atween my legs oor wee bit sheltie!" Scarce had the words wun o'er his grievin' lips, Whan, raxin' oot his han's, a shelt he grips. "Na! sic a chance!" he cries; syne, in a crack, He warstles up, an' on the creatur's back, Grips fast the mane, whan, wi' an eldritch squeel, Forrit it flees as fast as'ts legs could speel. But nae alane; for, like birds i' the flichtir, Rade roun' an' roun', wi' muckle mirth an' lauchter, A fairy band; an', as they rade, they sang, While siller bells upo' their bridles rang. On ilka side o' Inglis rade a knicht In Lincoln-green, wi' armour burnished bricht; Like stars intil a frosty nicht, the sheen Blinkit like siller in his dazzlet een. Onward they rade--the knichts cried, "Forward!" still-- Till bye Ha'moss, syne up the Castlehill At fire-flaucht speed, till on the very tap They drew their reins an' aff their horses lap. But sic a sicht as met puir Inglis een Was ne'er by mortal in this wide warld seen; The hillside, openin' oot, exposed to view Yetts made o' silver, hung on sapphires blue. Harpers stood roun'; an', as they harped, they sung Lieds sweetly wild, but in some unco tongue; An' wee, wee ladies fair beyond compare, An' wee, wee lords in gorgeous garbs war' there. One courteous knight, advancing from them all, Said, "Welcome, Inglis, to our Fairy Hall! Come let us join the rest and see the sport, And pay our duty to the Queen at court Keep close by me until we pass yon den,--