II
FRAE nirly, nippin', Eas'lan' breeze,
Frae Norlan' snaw, an' haar o' seas,
Weel happit in your gairden trees,
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A bonny bit,
Atween the muckle Pentland's knees,
Secure ye sit.
Beeches an' aiks entwine their theek,
An' firs, a stench, ault-farrant clique.
A' simmer day, your chimleys reek,
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Couthy and bien;
An' here an' there your windies keek
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Amang the green.
A pickle plats an' paths an' posies,
A wheen auld gillyflowers an' roses:
A ring o' wa's the hale encloses
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Frae sheep or men;
An' there the auld housie beeks an' dozes,
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A' by her lane.
The gairdner crooks his weary back
A' day in the pitaty-track,
Or mebbe stops awhile to crack
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Wi' Jane the cook,
Or at some buss, worm-eaten-black,
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To gie a look.
Frae the high hills the curlew ca's;
The sheep gang baaing by the wa's;
Or whiles a clan o' roosty craws
Cangle thegether;
The wild bees seek the gairden raws,
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Weariet wi' heather.
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