Tired ae e'ening, stepping hooly,[108]
Pondering on his thraward[109] fate,
In the bonny month o' July,
Willie, heedless, tent[110] his gate.[111]]
Saft the southland breeze was blowing,
Sweetly sughed[112] the green oak wood;
Loud the din o' streams fast fa'ing,
Strack the ear with thundering thud.
Ewes and lambs on braes ran bleating;
Linties chirped on ilka tree;
Frae the west the sun near setting,
Flamed on Roslin's towers sae hie.[113]
Roslin's towers and braes sae bonny!
Craigs and water, woods and glen!
Roslin's banks unpeered by ony,
Save the Muses' Hawthornden!
Ilka sound and charm delighting,
Will (though hardly fit to gang,)[114]
Wandered on through scenes inviting,
Listening to the mavis' sang.
Faint at length, the day fast closing,
On a fragrant strawberry steep,
Esk's sweet dream to rest composing,
Wearied nature drapt asleep.
'Soldier, rise!—the dews o' e'ening,
Gathering fa' wi' deadly skaith!—
Wounded soldier! if complaining,
Sleep na here, and catch your death.'
Accepting an invitation to take shelter in a neighboring cottage, slowfully and painfully he followed his guide.
Silent stept he on, poor fellow!
Listening to his guide before,
O'er green knowe, and flowery hollow,
Till they reached the cot-house door.
Laigh[115] it was, yet sweet and humble:
Decked wi' honeysuckle round;
Clear below Esk's waters rumble,
Deep glens murmuring back the sound.