‘Surely you know the lines,’ said Margaret; ‘they are in “Hallowe’en.”’
I assured her I did not, and in a low clear voice she repeated:
‘Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As through the glen it wimples;
Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays;
Whyles in a wiel it dimples.
Whyles glitterin’ to the noontide rays,
Wi’ bickerin’, dancin’ dazzle,
Whyles cookin’ underneath the braes,
Below the spreading hazel.’