Canty Pixies Of Haughs

The wonderful Pixies of the Haughs.

Ayont the dreary moss,
Is a stime that is glisky,
Shining on a bonny foss,
And beings that are frisky.

Across the weary fells, 
The driblets of rain leck,
And thus fill the toom kells,
That strengthen with feck.

Fain whispers of spring dwam,
The rindling waters of a glack,
Where the sun awakens a cam, 
Happing the shades of black. 

Feel the dew of the brash, 
That soothes a day away, 
With soft wings flying rash, 
Amell the long rows of hay.

Behold the kipper thrush, 
That glides o'er the glen, 
Aboon the stems in a rush,
Wexing beyond a murky fen.

And the gleg bairns abide,
The coming of a tait bewer, 
Who frolicks in glee beside, 
The rakish wights of afower.

Beckoning them to hie nigh,
Whence the tinkles glisten, 
Upon the winsome sky high,
As the swaimish lads listen.

In the gorses of the lowlands, 
Gather canty pixies of haughs,
Below bluffs of the highlands, 
Riding bold winds of the lochs.