* SKEELY KIRSTY *

A stane-cast fae the clachan heid

An auld feal dyke enclosed a reed

O’ garden grun’, where flower an’ weed

In spring grew first aye;

An’ there the humble hauddin’ steed

O’ Skeely Kirsty.

Upon the easin’ sods a fou

Thick-leaved an’ sappy yearly grew,

Which, for a scrat or scabbit mou’,

Beat aught in “Buchan”;

An’ draughts fae herbs she used to brew

That drank like brochan.

To heal a heid, or scob a bane,

To ease a neebour's grippit wean,

Or thoom a thraw, there wasna ane

Could e'er come near her;

Nae income, fivver, hoast, nor nane

Would ever steer her.

She cured for pleasure, nae for fees;

Healed man an’ beast wi’ equal ease:

She gae a lotion for the grease

To Spence the carrier,

That cured his mear, when the disease

Gaed ower the farrier.

Was there a corp to streck or kist,

She aye was foremost to assist;

She grat to think “how he'd be miss't,

Sae good and gifted”!

Syne handed roon’ anither taste

Afore they lifted.

Ae morn grim Death — that poacher fell —

Gat Kirsty in his girn hersel’;

Nae epitaph her virtues tell,

It needs nae vreetin':

On ae thing maistly Fame will dwell —

Her gift o’ greetin’.