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12 Jeanie Miller ance sae cherrie, Ance sae happy, good and fair, Left by Will, next morning, drearie, Taks the road o’ black dispair ! Cauld the blast—the day was sleeting; Pouch and purse without a plack ! In ilka hand a bairnie greeting, And a third tied on her back. Wan her face and lean and haggard, Ance sae sonsy—ance sae sweet; What a change ! unhoused and beggared, Starving, without claes or meat! Far frae ilk kent spot she wandered, Skulking like a guilty thief; Here and there uncertain dandered, Stupified wi’ shame and grief: But soon shame for bygone errors Fled owre fast for e’e to trace, When grim death wi’ a’ his terrors Cam’ owre ilk sweet barnie’s face. Spent wi’ toil, and cauld and hunger, Baith down drapt, and down Jean sat; Daized and doited now nae langer, Thought—and felt—and bursting grat. Gloamin’ fast wi’ mirky shadow Crap owre distant hill and plain ; Darkened wood, and glen, and meadow, Added fearfu’ thoughts to pain. Round and round in wild distraction Jeanie turned her tearfu’ e’e; Round and round for some-protection— Face nor house she couldna see !