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7
She talk'd, she smiled, my heart she wil’d,
She charted my soul I watha how;
An' aye the stound the deadly wound,
Cam frae her een she bonnie blue.
But spare I’ll speak, an' spare I’ll speed,
She’ll aiblins listen to my vow;
Should she refuse, I’ll lay my dead
To her twa een sae bonnie blue.
SLEEPING MAGGIE.
Mirk an' rainy is the night,
No a starn in a the carry,
Lightnings gleam athwart the litt,
And winds drive wi' winter’s fury.
O are ye sleeping Maggy
O are ye ⟨sleeping⟩ Maggy?
Let me in, for loud the linn,
Is roaring o’er the warlock craigie.
Fearfu' soughs the boor-tree bank.
The rifted wood roars wild and dreary,
Loud the iron yett does clank,
And cry o’ howlets maks me eerie.
O are ye sleeping &c.
