O’ munebeams like a bleeze o’ swords!
Nae chance lunge cuts the Gordian knot,
Nor sall the belly find relief
In wha’s entangled moniplies
Creation like a stoppage jams,
Or in whose loins the mapamound
Runkles in strawns o’ bubos whaur
The generations gravel.
The soond o’ water winnin’ free,
The sicht o’ licht that braks the rouk,