Bauldy, however, confesses his wrong, and adds—
"But I had best
Haud in my tongue, for yonder comes the ghaist[48]
An' the young bonny witch, whose rosy cheek
Sent me, without my wit, the de'il to seek."
Sir William (looking at Peggy).—Whose daughter's she that wears the aurora gown,
With face so fair, and locks o' lovely brown?
How sparkling are her eyes? What's this I find,
The girl brings all my sister to my mind.
Such were the features once adorned a face,
Which death so soon deprived of sweetest grace.
Is this your daughter Glaud?
Glaud.—Sir, she's my niece,
An' yet she's not, but I shoud haud my peace.
Sir Wil.—This is a contradiction. What d' ye mean?
She is, and is not! pray thee, Glaud, explain.
Glaud.—Because I doubt, if I shou'd mak' appear,
What I hae kept a secret thirteen year—
Mause.—You may reveal what I can fully clear.
Sir Wil.—Speak soon; I'm all impatience.
Patie.—Sae am I!
For much I hope, an' hardly yet ken why.
Glaud.—Then, since my master orders, I obey.
This bonny foundling, ae' clear morn o' May,
Close by the lea-side o' my door I found,
A' sweet an' clean an' carefully hapt[49] 'round,
In infant weeds, o' rich and gentle make.
What could they be, thought I, did thee forsake?
Wha, worse than brutes, cou'd leave exposed to air
Sae much o' innocence sae sweetly fair,
Sae helpless young? for she appeared to me
Only about twa towmands[50] auld to be.
I took her in my arms; the bairnie smiled,
Wi' sic a look, wad mak a savage mild.
I hid the story: she has pass'd sinsyne[51]
As a poor orphan, an' a niece o' mine:
Nor do I rue my care about the wean,
For she's weel worth the pains that I hae tane.
Ye see she's bonny; I can swear she's guid,
An' am right sure she's come o' gentle bluid,
O' wham I kenna.[52] Naething I ken mair,
Than what I to your honor now declare.