For time gaed creeping on, an’ her hopes changed into doobt
An’ doobt to caul’ mistrustin’, while I toilt ayont the sea.
I’ve warselt wi’ the worl’ weel—I’ve run a wunnin’ race,
But, aih! I’m of’en wushin’ when I maunder by mysel’,
An’ a’ my weary strivin’s through lang lanesome years I trace,
I had bidden puir i’ Middlebie and mairiet Meenie Bell.
“A LOCKERBYE LYCKE.”[11]
(MODERN ANTIQUE.)
Ye’ve aiblins heard o’ Wullye Smyth,
Ane hosteler wychte was he;