An' formin' assignations
To meet some day.
But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, sounds
Till a' the hills are rairin', roaring
An' echoes back return the shouts;
Black Russel is na sparin';
His piercing words, like Highlan' swords,
Divide the joints an' marrow;
His talk o' Hell, where devils dwell,
Our very ‘sauls does harrow’