That ten day.lab'rers could not end;
Then lies him down, the lubber * fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
And cropful out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings."
* Lob-lye-by-the-fire.
My readers will, I am sure, more than pardon me for giving them the following poem on Aiken-Drum, for the pleasure of first reading which, many years ago, I am indebted to Mr. R. Chambers's Popular Rhymes of Scotland, where its "extraordinary merit" is generously acknowledged.
THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCH.
There cam' a strange wicht to our town-en',