To pu' the nit and the slae.
The "dochter" is of course daughter, "nit" is nut, and "slae" sloe.
[209].
Pause an instant on the fifth word in the third stanza and you can actually hear the birds laughing—yaffle, blackcap, bullfinch and jay, and the droning and the whistling and the whir-r-r.
[210]. Fa la La.
Scattered through this volume are many songs, a few of them—both words and music—exceedingly ancient. Mr. Nahum had a cofferful of old hand-written music (square crotchets and quavers and handsome clefs); and many outlandish instruments were hung up in the dust and silence in one of his cupboards. I remember some small living thing set a string jangling when for the first time the door admitted me to a sight of their queer shapes and appearances. In an old book of 1548, The Complaynt of Scotland, there is a list of names, not only of old folk-tales such as "The tayl of the wolfe of the varldes end"; and "The tayl of the giantes that eit quyk men," but of songs and dances for long in common love and knowledge even in those old times. Here are a few of the songs:
God You, Good Day, Wild Boy.
Trolly lolly leman, dow.
All musing of Marvels, amiss have I gone.