O Thou! whatever title suit thee-
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Whain yon cavern grim an’ sootie,
Clos’d under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstanecootie,
To scaud poor wretches!

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee,
An’ let poor damned bodies be;
I’m sure sma’pleasure it can gie,
Ev’n to a deil,
To skelpan’ scaudpoor dogs like me,
An’ hear us squeel!

Great is thy pow’r an’ great thy fame;
Far ken’d an’ noted is thy name;
An’ tho’ yon lowin’ heuch’s thy hame,
Thou travels far;
An’ faith! thou’s neither lagnor lame,
Nor blate, nor scaur.

Whiles, ranging like a roarin lion,
For prey, a’ holes and corners tryin;
Whiles, on the strong-wind’d tempest flyin,
Tirlin the kirks;
Whiles, in the human bosom pryin,
Unseen thou lurks.

I’ve heard my rev’rend graunie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or where auld ruin’d castles grey
Nod to the moon,
Ye fright the nightly wand’rer’s way,
Wi’ eldritchcroon.

When twilight did my graunie summon,
To say her pray’rs, douse, honest woman!
Aft’yont the dykeshe’s heard you bummin,
Wi’ eeriedrone;
Or, rustlin, thro’ the boortrees comin,
Wi’ heavy groan.

Aedreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi’ sklentin light,
Wi’ you, mysel’ I gat a fright,
Ayontthe lough;
Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight,
Wi’ wavin’ sough.

The cudgel in my nievedid shake,
Each brist’ld hair stood like a stake,
When wi’ an eldritch, stoor”quaick, quaick,”
Amangthe springs,
Awaye squatter’d like a drake,
On whistlin’ wings.

Let warlocks grim, an’ wither’d hags,
Tell how wi’ you, on ragweednags,
They skim the muirs an’ dizzy crags,
Wi’ wicked speed;
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,
Owrehowkit dead.

Thence countrawives, wi’ toil and pain,
May plunge an’ plunge the kirnin vain;
For oh! the yellow treasure’s ta’en
By witchin’ skill;
An’ dawtit, twal-pint hawkie’s gane
As yell’s the bill.

Thence mystic knots makgreat abuse
On young guidmen, fond, keen an’ crouse,
When the best wark-lumei’ the house,
By cantrip wit,
Is instant made nowortha louse,
Just at the bit.

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
An’ float the jinglin’ icy boord,
Then water-kelpieshaunt the foord,
Byyour direction,
And ‘nighted trav’llers are allur’d
To their destruction.

And aftyour moss-traversin Spunkies
Decoy the wightthat late an’ drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies
Delude his eyes,
Tillin some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne’er mairto rise.

When masons’ mystic word an’ grip
In storms an’ tempests raiseyou up,
Some cockor cat your rage maunstop,
Or, strange to tell!
The youngest britherye wad whip
Affstraughtto hell.

Lang synein Eden’s bonie yard,
When youthfu’ lovers first were pair’d,
An’ all the soul of love they shar’d,
The raptur’d hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flow’ry swaird,
In shady bower;^1

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog!
Ye camto Paradise incog,

An’ play’d on man a cursed brogue,
(Black be your fa’!)
An’ giedthe infant warlda shog,
‘Maist rui’d a’.

D’ye mindthat day when in a bizz
Wi’ reekit duds, an’ reestitgizz,
Ye did present your smoutiephiz
‘Mang better folk,
An’ sklented on the man of Uzz
Your spitefu’ joke?

An’ how ye gathim i’your thrall,
An’ brakhim out o’ house anhal’,
While scabs and botches did him gall,
Wi’bitter claw;
An’ lows’d his ill-tongu’d wicked scaul’,
Was warst ava?

But a’your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an’ fechtin fierce,
Sin’that day Michael^2did you pierce,
Down to this time,
Wad dinga Lallantounge, or Erse,
In prose orrhyme.

An’ now, auld Cloots, I kenye’re thinkin,
A certain bardie’s rantin, drinkin,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin
To your black pit;
But faith! he’ll turn a corner jinkin,
An’ cheat you yet.

Butfare-you-weel, auldNickie-ben!
O wadye taka thought an’men’!
Ye aiblinsmight-I dinnaken-
Stil haea stake:
I’m waeto think up’ yonden,
Ev’n for your sake!