Helplessly the folk continue
To lead their livin’ death!...
[1]At darknin’ hings abune the howff
A weet and wild and eisenin’ air.
Spring’s spirit wi’ its waesome sough
Rules owre the drucken stramash there.
And heich abune the vennel’s pokiness,
Whaur a’ the white-weshed cottons lie;
The Inn’s sign blinters in the mochiness,
And lood and shrill the bairnies cry.