BY THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.
As Archie passed the Brockwood-leys,
He cursed the blinkan moon,
For shouts were borne upo' the breeze
Frae a' the hills aboon.
A herd had marked his lingering pace
That e'enin near the fauld,
And warned his fellows to the chace,
For he kenn'd him stout and bauld.
A light shone frae Gilnockie tower;
He thought, as he ran past,—
"O Johnie ance was stiff in stour,
"But hangit at the last!"—
His load was heavy, and the way
Was rough, and ill to find;
But ere he reached the Stubholm brae,
His faes were far behind.
He clamb the brae, and frae his brow
The draps fell fast and free;
And when he heard a loud halloo,
A waefu' man was he.
O'er his left shouther, towards the muir,
An anxious e'e he cast;
And oh! when he stepped o'er the door,
His wife she looked aghast.
"Ah wherefore, Archie, wad ye slight
"Ilk word o' timely warning?
"I trow ye will be ta'en the night,
"And hangit i' the morning."—
"Now haud your tongue, ye prating wife,
"And help me as ye dow;
"I wad be laith to lose my life
"For ae poor silly yowe."—